A Flower In The Fray
by TheGothamKnight
Summary: 70 years have passed since Canada liberated Netherlands from Nazi occupation. Although the rest of the world forgot her, he never could. Yet, as the years pass by, Netherlands' fascination with his liberator only ever grows stronger as he is left to wonder of the formidable force that lurks within the young nation who saved him over half a century ago (fem!CanadaxNetherlands)
1. Beyond Help, Beyond Hope

**Author's note: Hello! This is my first fanfiction on this website and I'd like to thank you for happening upon it and giving it a chance.**

 ****Also, many thanks to Maplevogel for allowing me to use her lovely art as the cover photo for this story.**

 **She creates AMAZING art for Hetalia among other things and is proudly Canadian which works out well for this story, as it were! If you love unique art (especially for Canada and Prussia or just PruCan in general) you can find her at .com where you can find her work and all other social media platforms!*****

 **WARNINGS/DISCLAIMERS:**

 ***there will be violence (and course language) in this chapter as well as some future chapters but mostly only in flashbacks of the past.**

 ***this is a work of fiction but borrows certain themes based loosely off of real events regarding the chapters which** ** _do_** **contain events or content about the war although bent and sometimes tweaked for the stories sake but heavily inspired by truth**

 *** _human names_ will be used (most of which are canon)**

 _ ***I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR ITS CHARACTERS AND ANY RELATION TO CHARACTERS LIVING OR DEAD (OR FICTIONAL) IS PURELY**_ ** _COINCIDENTAL!_**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 _ **A warning to the people,**_  
 _ **The good and the evil,**_  
 _ **This is war.  
**_  
 _ **~30 Seconds to Mars**_

* * *

May 10th, 1940

 _0355 hrs_

 _Nazi Germany invades the Netherlands._

 _The distant roar of the approaching German Luftwaffe's plane engines is the only warning the citizens of Rotterdam have of what is to come; the start of a hellish occupation that would last for almost half a decade and bring about the deaths of over 200,000 Dutch natives. What brings about this horror is a blitzkrieg with its sights already locked on its latest target of the Waalhaven airfield just south of the doomed city. Though the Dutch troops who manned the base put up a fierce resistance, it was an effort made in vain. With the element of surprise serving to aid the Germans' cause, the Dutch citizens were easily overpowered by the German forces that sought to conquer._

 _May 14th, 1940_

 _1330 hrs_

 _The attack on Rotterdam begins._

 _German troops parachuted from air crafts onto the Dutch lands by the tons. All communications and transportation are the first to go, effectively cutting off all ties to the world and crippling the natives' chances for any outer assistance. The Netherlands—an irritation for the German army's great conquest of France and the world. Ah, yes, with its key ports and waterways would be useful indeed._

 _Six days is all it takes for Rotterdam to fall into Nazi Germany's hands utterly and completely—six days is all it takes to occupy the Third Reich's newest prize._

* * *

Netherlands felt the threat of his unwelcome guests before they even set foot on his land. It is a phenomenon usually experienced by old and oftentimes powerful countries to feel imminent danger before crisis even strikes. This sixth sense of sorts was often acquired by old or even ancient countries that had been in direct conflict with other countries multiple times in memory to feel the looming threat of invasion long before said invasion took place. It was on a spring day that this warning bell within the Dutch nation rang true. Holland had been going about his business in his daily routine, running his everyday errands. It had been a rather lovely spring day and with his groceries purchased and soon to be delivered to his home, he continued his leisurely walk through the marketplace stopping to smell the roses (or tulips as it were), for he halted to enjoy a fine arrangement of his national flower from a florist's stall. The friendly elderly woman who ran the stall offered him a free bouquet which he gracefully accepted, nodding politely in thanks and at the good wishes she offered. He made it a habit to have his favourite flower present in his surroundings as much as possible. Using his beloved tulips as a centerpiece in his home would certainly serve to brighten up his house.

He had been strolling through the picturesque streets of Rotterdam he loved so much when he felt it—a twinge in his gut like a wave of numbed pain rolling beneath his skin, a vicious pull from within. Netherlands slowed in his normally brisk gait, eventually stopping to turn his scrutinizing green gaze to the sky. Something was not right. Not in the slightest. With narrowed eyes, he scanned the skies when he felt it again—the twinge—this time strong enough make him stagger back a step. Turning once again to the skies, he searched the empty airspace frantically. He waited. Something was coming. No, something was…here?

Rocketing through the narrow streets of the town, Netherlands earned the curious stares of his people as he sped by, bouquet of fresh tulips clutched firmly in hand. His boots pounded off the cobblestone streets as he ran, weaving his way through the city block to the main square where rooftops did not obscure his view of the skies. Coming to a skidding stop a few blocks before the city center, Netherlands once more scanned the empty blue skies—still nothing. He waited, continuing to search the sky above, frustration close to driving him mad. There seemed to be nothing, nothing at all. But then he _heard_ it and ice filled his veins.

The hum of numerous fighter planes was muffled but thunderous as it echoed the distance. Of those citizens of Rotterdam who had only moments ago sent questioning glances at the seemingly frantic nation, they too now turned their attentions to the skies. The whole populace seemed to take pause when more and more citizens shuffled into the slowly crowding square to join their nation as he gazed up at the skies with a look that could only be described as alarm. The surprised gasps around him were lost in the low growing murmur of the crowds that filled the city center. The sound of the roaring engines increased in volume as the moments passed by as did the sound of panic in the Dutch people.

He should have known. How could he have been so blind? It had been only days before he had felt a similar twinge. Nothing at all as intense as it was now but an inward warning nonetheless. He had been in the middle of housework when he felt a sudden burst of anxiety. The unexplained feeling was simply brushed off as one of his O.C.D as he cleaned. There had been a few murmurs German planes passing over Dutch airspace bound for Britain that settled quickly but those had seemed harmless enough days ago what with the Waalhaven Airfield beyond the outskirts of the peaceful city. Suddenly, the events of days passed did not seem so strange in now as it did as an isolated incident—suddenly, all the pieces of a puzzle he wasn't even aware he was piecing together fell into place. Yes, he could understand it now; the anxiousness he felt was from struggle of his own countrymen, his troops on a base, only mere miles away. He could feel the fear, the anguish…the defeat. The airfield, the lands surrounding the city…it had to be. If the enemy had secured Waalhaven, then he could expect the planes approaching were not piloted by anybody friendly.

His face darkened. Tearing his gaze away from the sky, he cast a glance around him. It was only then that the Dutch nation realized his people had all indeed followed his lead and had their fright filled eyes glued to the endless expanse of blue above them.

If his gut feelings were right and his reasoning true, he didn't have much time.

"Officer." He barked at an idle constable standing to his right. The young man also tore his concerned stare away from the sky and nodded at the living embodiment of his nation. Taking a few long strides, he stalked over to the young man in uniform, Netherlands pulled the young man in suddenly by the shoulder, talking in hushed and urgent tones as he ordered, "You are to round up your men and have them clear the streets immediately—am I understood?" He all but hissed in his urgency. The frightened looking officer merely gave a shaky nod of his head, thoroughly intimidated by the nation in front of him and the commands he gave. "Give them order to have the people evacuate the streets now, now!" He ordered, shoving the constable forward who in turn ran off to carry out his mission.

Spotting two guards who regularly patrolled the city square and in turn the city hall, Netherlands motioned them over, taking measured steps towards them as they hurried over. "I need you to call on the Colonel—tell him to rally the troops and double all guards," he ordered to one, "and you, you are to report to the mayor immediately. Am I clear? You are to tell him to cable the Queen that we are being invaded. Tell him to sound the alarm, do you hear me? Sound the ala—!" the sound of gunfire and the thundering of a shell in the distance colliding into the earth echoed streets over and all hell broke loose in the city. Crowds scrambled, women screamed and the once bright bouquet of tulips the Dutch nation held lay crumpled and trampled in the dust like the hopes of escaping Nazi invasion unscathed. Netherlands looked on in horror at what appeared to be the beginning of the end as the roar of war planes drowned out all sound.

" _GO_!" he roared, putting his seldom used voice to use, snapping the two guards out of their terrified daze to do as he told. A stampede of people fled the square in the midst of the chaos unfolding, tripping in their haste, trampling in their terror.

They were under attack—it had to be the Germans. Netherlands cursed under his breath. The whole city was already thrown into a pandemonium. Although he knew he had to keep a level head for his people, keeping calm would only get him so far in a situation escalating so rapidly into terror. He needed to alert the Queen of the coming air raid—if the Germans were attacking here, he could be damn well sure that it was only a matter of time before they opened fire upon the rest of his land. He needed to get to the city center where the mayor could reach the Queen and that was exactly what he would do. Netherlands pushed roughly through the crowds, against the wave of frightened city folk _towards_ sounds of gunfire. Netherlands had been fighting his way to the direction of the city center that lay beyond the gunfire, when a small cry of distress reached his ears. His alert green eyes fell to a tiny child who had fallen to the ground and was about to be all but trampled on in a moments time. Immediately, he pushed through towards the little girl, crouching down from his full height to stand her up. The girl was about six, no doubt, and obviously distressed. She wore two bright blue bows in her pig tails and sobbed, tears streaking her chubby cheeks. Briefly, he brushed the dirt off her scraped knee. "Where is your moeder?" He asked, a little impatient.

The girl only cried harder, letting out a watery wail which made the Dutchman frown. Resigned, he scooped up the tiny child and hoisted her above his head to sit her on his broad shoulders. "Do you see her?" The little girl was quiet as he too scanned the crowds for the girl's would be mother. Spotting a distressed looking woman with blonde hair and brown eyes resembling the wayward child, he moved towards the woman no sooner than the child could let out a shout for the woman. The presumed mother spotted the child, her brown eyes filling with recognition and relief as she rushed towards the towering nation who handed over the frightened child to an equally fearful mother. "Thank you, sir!" She clutched the child close in her arms, the girl looking up at the nation with round and innocent eyes. To this he gave a brief nod. "Get to safety—now." He said simply, stalking off quickly without another word, disappearing into the crowds set on reaching his destination without any more distractions.

Hustling through the streets overflowing with his panicked and confused countrymen, he hurried to reach the square of the city center. He made his way determinedly with an urgency that did not escape the worried people of Rotterdam. Willem winced when another shell shook the earth violently, mingling with the surprised screams of some. Being what he was, every assault on his homeland took a toll on him physically; he could _feel_ every shell that hit and he knew it would only be getting worse. He was but a city block away from the square but when he turned the corner, he was met with a strange sight.

The handful of the armed soldiers he had ordered dispatched was face to face with a team of French and Belgian soldiers. Netherlands watched as perplexed as his men who looked on in confusion at their foreign allied troops armed to the teeth with sub machine guns and assault rifles. One who appeared to be the leader of the small flock of soldiers (there were about six of them) in French and Belgium uniforms tried coaxing the hesitant Dutch troops to lower their weapons. Netherlands took to examining the foreigners' firearms. As the unfamiliar soldier demanded their weapons be lowered for their allies again, the Dutch soldiers seemed hesitant to comply. Netherlands looked on in confusion. Had his allies anticipated this attack and come to intervene? No, he reasoned with himself that there was no way France and Belgium could have possibly known. Once more the squadron leader ordered in Dutch, "Lower your arms against your allies!" The Dutch soldiers exchanged unsure glances but were ready to finally comply. However, Netherlands' sharp eyes scanned his allied troopers. It was then he noticed—the speaker held in his gloved hand an…FG 42? The Dutch nation felt his blood run cold.

It was a German assault rifle. These were German soldiers.

"NO! _DON'T DO IT_!" He roared jolting forward but he it was already too late. No sooner had the Dutch troops reluctantly lowered their weapons did their "allies" open fire, shooting them dead at point blank range. Shrieks of terror filled the streets and Holland's vision went as red as the blood pooling from his fallen men who lay in a heap on the ground that painted the cobblestone streets a ghastly crimson.

"NAZI BARSTAARD!" Netherlands bellowed with a rage that seemed to shake him from within. Behind him, enemy hands apprehended him but the nation was having none of it. Rounding on the Nazi offender, he struck out violently, sending him crashing onto the ground. Having snatched up his attacker's fallen weapon, without hesitation fired a bullet straight into his head. Then he returned his "allies'" favour, turning and opening fire on the enemy squadron. In two shots their leader went down first, blood arching as he hit the ground. A savagery Holland hadn't quite felt in recent memory born of unadulterated rage erupted in him, spurring him forward to kill without mercy. He picked off another three at a lightning speed with ease, never ceasing fire as he stalked forward; bullet shells clinking on the ground at his feet.

He was ready for numbers five and six of his "allied" group when he got hit. More enemy soldiers were pouring into the street and this one shot him in the left shoulder. He had taken many a bullet before and it never got any less painful. He staggered back as the bullet burned and seared beneath his skin. Oh, how he hated bullets. Willem preferred the honour once present in hand to hand combat. Any idiot could fire a pistol. Good thing too, he _was_ right handed after all. With deadly accuracy, he shot at his most recent target and watched him go down.

Another shot was fired at the Dutch nation, one that hit the mark on his abdomen. Netherlands grit his teeth, tasting blood but advanced, picking off yet another of the "French" troopers in one clean shot. Only one was left and he wasted no time in opening fire on Willem. Three more bullets entered his frame. He stumbled back from the force of each blow but trudged closer and closer to the last shooter who, quite frankly, looked horrified that the nation still staggered forward with fire in his green eyes. Willem knew the gunmen had a few more bullets left but it would take more than that to stop him. The fool fired relentlessly, clearly unaware that his shots had done him no good. Humans couldn't harm nations the way they could harm another human by simply firing at them. To think, this mortal thought he could kill him with such a trivial thing as a clip of bullets, he who had survived hand to hand combat a hundred times over, he who was practically ancient in his own right. It was insulting and frankly, this only served to piss off said nation _more_.

So, with his gun out of ammo and his countrymen lying dead mere feet away, Holland decided this one would be personal. Spitting blood, Netherlands dropped his empty gun and stalked right up to the soldier and with the speed of a cobra's strike, disarmed the man, snatching the gun out of the soldier's hand, aimed right between his eyes and without giving the soldier a chance to say his prayers, fired point blank. Blood splattered across his face but he reveled in his success.

The Dutch nation felt another shell hit the city, wincing at the growing pains that tore through his body. His blood stained scarf billowed behind him as he stared down at the scene of carnage before him when a rifle's gunshot echoed through the streets. Netherlands' eyes widened, looking down at the blood pooling from his belly. The shot had come from behind and the bullet ran him through, rocketing out the other side. A choked gasp left his lips as his knees buckling before he hit the ground. Blood sprayed from his lips as he coughed, agonizing pain tearing through him. _That_ shot was different—it actually wounded him which could only mean one thing—Netherlands strained his neck, but with a surprisingly controlled countenance, looked back to finally meet his enemy in the flesh.

Germany stared down at him, his piercing blue eyes boring holes into Holland's very soul.

"That's quite enough, I think." He said callously; his thick accent clung tightly to his words. Netherlands glared up at the Germanic nation whose government was responsible for the widespread terror and death around the entire world. Germany returned his sneer generously. Netherlands noticed the nation's rifle was pointed at the ground so he gathered that Germany wanted him alive or at the very least wasn't going to shoot him again any time soon. However, a very slight derision laced his icy tone, "It is time to be civil, wouldn't you say?" he said—as if his paratroopers hadn't massacred his men in cold blood under the cruel guise of their allies moments earlier.

Netherlands spat at the German's shiny black boots which he had no doubt polished meticulously. " _Nazi swine_." He hissed venomously.

A flicker passed through Germany's eyes that told Holland he had hit some exposed nerve that the Dutchman had been unaware of within the nation. Germany's frown seemed to deepen and his eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. Netherlands reveled in the tiny victory but could not quite savor the satisfaction entirely under this crushing weight of his defeat.

Netherlands looked around with little surprise to find that he was completely surrounded by Germany's men. One of which approached the nation and, clicking his heels together to _sieg heil_ in the Nazi salute before addressing the country with his seldom heard given name, "Herr Bielschidmt, all is secured as ordered," the man Holland assumed was a captain reported dutifully. Germany merely nodded at his subordinate who turned on his heel and stalked off in the disciplined manner that was strictly the Nazi way. During the exchange, Netherlands eyed the scarlet swastika armband on the German nation's black trench coat sleeve in disgust before meeting his eyes again. This was not something that Germany had missed nor remarked upon. "Well now," he murmured, tilting his head back ever so slightly, "let us get down to business, ja?" said Germany a little stonily, indicating that there would be very little of the aforementioned "civility" in supply.

A bitter chuckle, "I am loath to imagine what sort of business you might have on my land, terrorizing my city, _Nazi_." Holland said indignantly, making no efforts to mask the bite in his words. With an apathetic frown still in place, Germany nodded at two soldiers who stood idly by. Without words the two roughly plucked Netherlands off the ground without any care for the wounds he had been suffering from. God knows, had he been human he would have been dead several times over. Although in no foreseeable danger of fatality from Germany's affliction, he was greatly weakened.

Holland could feel his strength steadily draining from his body just as his brutal wounds seeped with blood. He gritted his teeth to suppress the wince that threatened to tug at his features. Though the pain was outstanding, Netherlands sought to maintain dignity within the ruins of defeat. He was then unceremoniously escorted (rather, dragged) to the square outside of town hall where many of the citizens of Rotterdam remain trapped with the rest of the paratroopers who were armed at the ready. The heated flames of anger ignited in his chest once more; for them to hold arms against a civilian population…how despicable. This was not war; this was complete domination without honour. Strengthening his resolve, he stood a little taller, walked with more purpose despite the pain it caused him. His people would not watch him crumble. No, his strength was their strength and he would not let these Nazi vermin disgrace him in front of them.

Outside of the town hall, Holland spotted the city's mayor being shoved along into the square into the square looking understandably anxious. Mayor Müller, while escorted down the hall steps to and into the cobblestone square to stand beside Netherlands made eye contact with the nation sending looks of underlying fear. The mayor and Netherlands had been pulled past the previously called upon Colonel who was frowning in contempt (and was pulled outside of the city center and into the square along with the other evacuees of the city hall). Another Nazi waffen SS officer stood before them both, Germany taking his place dutifully by his side like the ever faithful lapdog.

" _Goede kleine marionet_." The Dutch nation mumbled backhandedly beneath his breath just loud enough for the Germanic nation to hear as he had passed. Though what had been said was in Dutch, Germany had very well comprehended the insult given, of this Netherlands had no doubt; Germany's bright blue eyes had settled on him with an icy glare.

Dutch was quite similar to German—they came from the same Germanic bloodline, after all.

The Gestapo, one by the name of J. Schultz, with a high forehead beneath his hat beside Germany began, "Now that everyone is present, perhaps we can begin. For convenience sake, I will speak in English. You do understand, don't you?" He waggled his gloved finger between the two of them. Netherlands only narrowed his eyes.

"What is it you want? You have no business being here." The mayor spoke in Holland's stead with ire.

The Nazi officer was not fazed by this, "We have business everywhere we wish to have business, _mein freund,"_ the Gestapo said a little too cavalierly as he lit a cigarette, his arrogance all but thickening the air itself. Taking a drag before continuing, "And we have some rather pressing business to discuss with you." He pointed at Netherlands with the cigarette tucked between his fingers. A beat had not yet passed before Netherlands gave his reply. "If only nations could be seized by premature Nazi arrogance," he deadpanned, "the Fuhrer would have no need for cowardly open warfare on innocent civilians."

There was a flash in Germany's eyes that might have been akin to guilt, there and gone in an instant; replaced once more by stony indifference. Meanwhile, his superior did not seem to share his seemingly unaffected sentiment and looked on Netherlands, livid. His remark had done exactly what it had set out to do and earned him a punch in the gut (one ordered by the Gestapo with a brief nod at one of his men) for good measure.

"Perhaps it would serve you well to remember that the safety of your people relies solely on _your_ cooperation, _Holländer._ " It was Germany now who hissed under his breath to Willem who was doubled over in pain, "If I were you, I would choose my words very carefully from now on." The underlying threat was clear but beneath the gruffness of Germany's steely tone of voice, the Netherlands somehow felt he was simply coaxing him to stop the wisecracks for the benefits of himself and his people. Netherlands, his head hanging low, glared up at the Nazi nation with indignation and defiance but refrained from making any more smart remarks.

"Now, on to negotiate the terms of Rotterdam's surrender…" Schultz said calmly but with a steely expectancy in his tone. Netherlands bristled while the mayor stiffened.

"We will do no such thing!" Mayor Müller exclaimed aghast.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice." Germany chimed in, his riffle pointed safely to the ground but still an invaluable means of menace and threat. "Your forces are outmatched and we will have the entire city under our control in hours." He said bluntly, straight to the point as per usual. "The only choice you have is whether you would like to go willingly or not and I can assure you, it is in your best interest to relieve us of any _extra_ hassle." He rumbled darkly, his tone dropping to a sinister murmur as he stared down the shorter man with a clear warning meant to intimidate.

The threat was clear—go without a fight and be conquered or invoke the brutal wrath of Germany by refusing and only piss them off further. Get slammed into the ground or get slammed into the ground _harder._ Obviously, the latter option was unthinkable as it was clear the Nazi party would win. Rotterdam's options were to bare a wound or one with salt rubbed in it. There were more important things at stake than pride of even freedom right now and everyone knew it.

The mayor frowned grimly, consulting the Netherlands with a grave stare at the Germanic " _out of frying pan and into the fire_ " approach. It was obvious to Holland that the man was intimidated and slowly caving under the pressure. Netherlands, however, did not tear his eyes off the Germans in front of him for a second; his jaw ticked as he finally slid his gaze to the shorter man beside him in a side glance. Contrary to belief, nations did not have much say in what when on in their lands. Only certain times of great desperation did the country's wishes tend to pull through. It was difficult to explain to someone who wasn't a nation themselves that they both had a mind of their government, a mind of their people and a mind of their own. The people's wishes, dreams and life force spurred him on in what he felt and his governments controlled just how much he could actually do.

Müller wasn't so much asking his permission as he was hesitant to make his decision which he was sure the nation would resent. It was doubtless that Müller did not want to surrender any more than Holland did but it had to be done. Nevertheless, Netherlands inclined his chin ever so slightly as if he bid the mayor to come out and say it and that it indeed was all they could do; his final decision was needed now. The mayor saw this and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Sensing the crack in the mayor's demeanor, the SS officer spoke up once more in his usual slimy tone, "You and your people…or your _nation_ ," he paused to send a meaningful glare at Netherlands who sneered back, "will not face our wrath if you surrender now."

Sweat beading on his forehead, the mayor of Rotterdam wrung his hands nervously before casting one glance out into the square where countless German soldiers and his people held at gunpoint in the streets. A beat had passed before he sent one last pitiful glance at the wounded nation by his side and condoned his agreement. "I, on behalf of the city of Rotterdam, do so accept these terms." With the shake of the Gestapo's hand, and the mention of terms of surrender to be read and broadcasted over Rotterdam, the deed had been done and Rotterdam's surrender was final. The two were once again unceremoniously dragged down the city center steps and out into the square. Germany having already marched himself down the steps and further into the square where his waiting troops stood and briefly spoke to a few soldiers, undoubtedly making sure everything was in order.

The mayor had been shoved out with a gun at his back and the same went double for Netherlands who followed after in contempt. The Gestapo, flicking his cigarette to the ground as he ambled down the steps and into the square, passing the Germanic nation and paused in his stride to stand in front of Germany before ordering the stoic country, "Bomb it." Germany himself was taken aback by Schultz's orders but snapped out of his surprised dazed quickly, nodding his head to his superior although the Gestapo had stridden away. Netherlands felt the ground drop from under his feet, acid in his veins. His heart thundered with an unstoppable rage and desperation, his vision turned red, his entire being pulsing with fury and he felt all the anger inside of him swell and sing in a dissonant chorus of hatred. He himself could not hear his wordless fierce and earth trembling roar over the thundering heart beats in his head as he surged forward intent on breaking free of those who restrained him to tear every Nazi scum's throat out when Germany, the stony nation reared back and with one devastating blow from the butt of his rifle, plunged Netherlands into blackness.

* * *

" _Bloody hell!_ " hissed Britain, slamming a fist tightly curled around a telegram onto the polished wooden table in his outrage, his hand narrowly missing the tea cup that rattled at the sudden brutish impact.

The United Kingdom's outburst had successfully garnered the Allies' attention as they stared in mild confusion at the unexpected display of his admittedly horrid temper. Even so, such an outlandish explosion from Arthur was a spectacle that was by no means indicative of good news.

" _Mon Dieu_ , what now Arthur—more hate-mail for your scones?" came France's elegantly snooty quip which was more exasperated than it was downright annoyed and was followed by an obnoxiously loud laugh from America who sat beside said Frenchman.

For once, Arthur was above getting even with France although there was a flash of irritation in his narrowed jade eyes and an undeniable urge to do so if the furrowing of his overly thick brows was any indication. However, his failure to call France a "frog" or snap at America to "shut his Yankee mouth" was telling and did not go unnoticed by the rest of the Allies. This was a rather awful warning of just how bad the news was and it the feeling of foreboding was felt acutely around the room.

Without as much as a word, Britain tossed piece of parchment (rather crumpled from the crushing grip of his pale fist) onto the conference table. All allies seemed to lean in around the telegram which America had picked up and smoothed out in his gloved hands; reading a line aloud, "Germans have invaded STOP. Dutch city of Rotterdam in ruins STOP," he paused, his brow furrowing in pity, "Oh man—sucks to be Denmark."

France snatched the paper out from under the American's nose impatiently. " _Dutch_ , not Danish! Netherlands has been invaded, you fool!" America seemed to blink when the drawn out " _oh_ " left his lips was followed by another boisterous laugh of his. He had the decency to look sheepish as he chuckled nervously and rubbed the back of his neck.

Then, China's proud and annoyed voice chimed in, "America is barely literate; who even let him read in the first place?" he nagged, getting his two cents in as he always did. However, the nation to the right of Yao, Russia, smiled his ominous little smile and let out a tight-lipped giggle as if he were merely enjoying himself by simply being in the company of the group. It was an unnerving sight so to say the least.

"Well, my copyrighting friend, you can blame his education on Arthur. _I_ would not allow such idiocy to have reigned through one of my beloved colonies." France replied conversationally to China, as if the eldest nation had been asking him personally. He had not. Despite this glaring fact, France continued chattily, "Nor would I have fed him the tasteless British food like he did which contributed a long history of America's bad eating habits or diabetes in his nation or—…"

" _Oh shut it, frog!_ " Britain finally snapped, tearing the telegram away from said "frog" and slapped it across his face with a sharp _whap_ ping sound. France glared, aghast at the Brit's actions and was ready to fire off a few surly retorts but Britain cut him short. "Focus, you wankers!" he growled in annoyance, casting a glare around the table.

"This is no laughing matter!" Slapping the paper onto the table once more he grounded out, "Netherlands was an invaluable asset to our war effort! He provides us with momentous shipments of needed supplies through his ideal estuaries and ports." The British nation braced both hands on the desk and tapped his finger on the paper to further emphasize his point while he spoke. "If Netherlands and his ports are compromised we face a serious blockade in the German defense and a great shortage in supplies, therefore a great weakening in the offense of the Allied forces! Not only this, but the Nazis will have conquered perhaps one of the key trade roots of the world!" He slapped his palm on the blasted telegram with vigor.

A grave silence settled over the room as each nation digested the gravity of the situations and just exactly what the repercussions of Germany's occupation of Netherlands meant for the rest of the world's hopes of conquering the nightmarish monster that was Hitler's Third Reich.

"Uh, right…" the silence was broken however by an unsure America who idly scratched at his head in thought. "Um…but Britain, dude—what's an estuary?"

The atmosphere got a lot more pitiful only this time for America's often limited mental facilities. Britain looked like he was moments away from thrashing him (probably because he knew the other nations would somehow blame Britain as a bad educator for his former colony's lack of intelligence) as he let out a string of colourful British insults aimed at the nation that not even the English speaking _America_ could comprehend while France sighed in his spot between the two English speakers, looking more and more like the exhausted "big brother" of the group as the meeting dragged on. China, arms crossed, stared at the western nations; his barely contained frustration escaping in muttered curses of his displeasure at the "immaturity of western nations, void of adequate teaching facilities" and that to reeducate America all it would take was "swift beatings". Meanwhile Russia's childlike smile grew all the more terrifying and otherworldly as each moment passed between the group and their fruitless arguing. One could practically feel an eerie aura swell around the violet eyed nation.

"Britain, leave him be. You know he won't learn anything." France muttered, pushing back his long golden locks out of his handsome face; for once playing big brother and mediator.

"Stay out of this, wine sniffer; he's not your responsibility!" snapped Britain.

France's eyes then narrowed dangerously. "He's not your responsibility either, Britain, or did you forget a little something called the _American Revolution_?"

That did it. Whatever good favour Britain and France had been holding throughout the meeting shattered and Britain, quick as a cobra's strike, grabbed a handful of France's expensive shirt collar and throttled him while America sighed, quite used to his former so called "guardians" brawling; reclining back in his chair, once again totally at ease since he was no longer the exclusive target for Britain's rampage. The sight was quite honestly an eyesore and didn't exactly inspire hope for the world's defense in the war against Hitler's armies when the very allies who banded together to stop the Nazi party from spreading were at war with _each other_.

"Isn't there anything we can do to help?" a soft and often unheard voice spoke up from the very end of the table before the sudden altercation could excel any further.

All at once the room seemed to halt in a listening silence.

"Who said that?" Britain demanded, ears perking up as he paused in his thrashing of the Franco nation to look around the room. "I thought I heard someone." He muttered, his thick brows furrowing pensively.

America, leaning back in his chair with his legs kicked up on the table, was well-adjusted to the scenario at hand and simply rolled his eyes, "Dude, you need to talk to someone about these hallucinations," muttered Alfred as he sipped on a bottle of coke he had cracked open around the time Britain began throttling France.

And France, who was still held firmly in Britain's grasp, pushed off the thick-browed nation with a hefty shove; smoothing out his now wrinkled shirt with distaste, "No, I heard it too. For once _her Majesty_ is right." Casting a glance back to Russia, he raised an accusing brow at said nation, "It isn't another one of those vengeful spirits hovering around you again is it, Russia?" He asked with an air of annoyance laced suspicion.

Ivan blinked his eyes in a way that was all too innocent of the unpredictably sinister nation but seemed genuinely perplexed. "No. I do not think so. I have taken care of General Winter's restless spirit long ago." He answered easily, but his casual speech had the opposite effect of reassuring the room of nations; leaving them to wonder what sort atrocities took place for Ivan to put such a troublesome and, bluntly put, outrageously creepy problem to rest. It wasn't hard to be unnerved by one's imagination and Russia's sickeningly cheerful smile.

 _Russia…so creepy,_ the whole room seemed to think at once as they eyed the Russian nation warily.

"…It was me," came the voice, thoroughly startling the room once more before they all seemed to start again at finally taking notice to her petite form sitting at the very end of the table. The phantom speaker, with Russia and America on either side sat patiently, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Isn't there anything we can do?" said that soft voice once again, this time a little more insistently and much firmer than before.

Britain seemed to recover first and his expression of surprise faded into that of guarded annoyance. "Not to be rude, but who in bloody hell _are_ you and who let you into our meeting?"

Canada tried hard to hide her disappointed and the frown that threatened to tug at her lips. "I'm Canada," said she.

"Canada? I don't know a…" he had trailed off before realization struck him. "Oh, Canada!" he said in surprise" It's you! I almost didn't recognize you." Britain murmured, rubbing at the back of his neck nervously at his own folly.

"Of course it is Canada, Britain!" France exclaimed upstarting, throwing his hands into the air as if it should have been obvious (and it _should_ have; Britain had owned Canada for a couple centuries after all). "I think those monstrous brows of yours are interfering with your vision." He continued jovially under the guise that he _had_ actually noticed Canada was present the whole time (he had not). Cooing, he stretched across the table, readying himself to hold his " _Cherie_ " in his arms when, with a swift kick to France's unbalanced chair leg, Britain sent the Franco nation falling in a haphazard heap onto the floor with gusto; seemingly without missing a beat though, Britain politely inquired, "Beg your pardon, Canada but could you repeat that?"

The youngest nation at the table stifled a sigh, ignoring France's grumbling curses as he lifted himself up off the floor with no help from America who watched idly as he sucked back on a good old bottle of cola. She did not favour seeing meetings progress so fruitlessly this way when, with the time spent bickering, the allies could be planning on just exactly what they would do to save lives and relieve the world's sufferings. Still, she remained as patient as ever and carefully readjusted her glasses as she spoke, "Netherlands," she re-informed, "What can we do to help him?"

Britain hesitated briefly, giving her a look that spoke volumes on his discomfort of her attending their meetings this way. He had never truly agreed with Canada herself joining him in World War I but during the Great War, Canada's political ties to Britain were even stronger then than now and had served to bond her fate in the war to his. Canada, ever the loyalist nation to Britain and his monarchs, followed wherever he led. If he went to war, she went to war. It was as simple as that. If Great Britain bore arms, so did she and if he should charge into battle, crying out, " _The game's afoot:_ _Follow your spirit, and upon this charge_ _Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!_ _"_ she would be there, crying out along with him. _  
_  
Yes, Britain never cared much for her personally following him on the European front but he, however, wanted and needed her man power. She was a female nation and a young one at that. She had not yet celebrated her 50th anniversary as an independent nation before she was called to the frontlines of the Great War. Britain felt it would be bothersome having to babysit and train such an amateur. It was her first real war after all and a nasty one at that. Whenever Britain _didn't_ notice her, which was more often than not, she sat through the meetings without being singled out as "too young" to attend meetings. Britain eventually stopped complaining about her presence on the battle front once he quickly came to the shinning realization that Canada, despite her docile and mild mannered appearance, was an extremely desirable asset and underdog in the Allied war effort. Her men and herself included were resilient, resourceful and loyal to a fault which put them at Britain's happy disposal. She might have been proud of this at the time but she couldn't remember her brief joy at being useful to Britain's cause lasting very long for he thrusted her and her men onto the battle as a chess player might shuttle off a pawn across the board. _  
_  
She decidedly repressed her memories of those days not so many years ago. She was practically still a child then and now, she was still just barely a young woman but duty called. She was more than willing to be Britain's gambit in this game of war before but was much less enthusiastic about it now. But what was she to do? The world was at war—what her sacrifices earned her where more important than what they cost her. She had hardened considerably as a nation since the Great War and the Great Depression that followed and was somber but determined in returning to her post.

Due to the stress of war, Canada had become bolder in speaking up at meetings. Her strength increased in times of crisis and she had no time to be comfortably silent. After Arthur's questionable pause, she repeated her question, "We _are_ going to help them aren't we?" The Anglo nation frowned, clearly a mulling over something with careful consideration. Sighing, he finally sat in his chair. "I'm not so sure."

Canada's lips tugged down into a frown. "But since he has been captured it's likely that the German's have already overtaken their ports and no doubt sabotaged or stolen our shipments. This _is_ vital, is it not? Besides all of that, the Netherlands has been nothing but a bother to the Third Reich's progression. I'm afraid to think of what they might do to retaliate—like mistreating him and his people more strongly than most…" she trailed off, loathe to imagine that she might be (and was) right.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, thinking. After another moment of thought, he shook his head, "No good, I'm afraid." said he, "We have more pressing issues to worry about than a few supplies amiss." He muttered, passing a hand through his blonde bedhead. He looked beyond tired and frustrated.

Meanwhile, the younger nation's brow furrowed at the contradiction of his words, "but you yourself stressed how _important_ this is…" She paused, looking around at her fellow nations sitting around the table, silently entreating them with her eyes. "Besides, he's been nothing but good to us in his aid. We can manage it, right?" She said hopefully.

He nodded in exasperation, "Yes, yes. I'm aware. But there's nothing we can do about it at present. Our plate is already full." He murmured and waved his hand dismissively, idling over a few maps and papers of German munitions reports smuggled in from a spy of his.

France, leaning in, placed his hand over hers and patted it comfortingly, "Well, look at it this way, _ma cherie_ ," he said, coaxing her simply, "he knew the risk of aiding the allies" he said patiently then added lowly with distaste, "Although, knowing the stingy bastard, it was less out of the goodness of his heart and more so for the goodness in our wallets and loyal customer service from us."

 _But does that make a difference?_ thought she to herself, _he is still in need of our help.  
_  
"Yeah," Canada's brother Alfred chirped, pausing to let out a loud belch (a direct side effect from the carbonated drink he had drained). The sound unsurprisingly making Yao sigh in disgust and surprisingly was enough to cause Ivan's firmly plastered smile to falter in distaste. "Chill, Maddy—dude's a beast, I'm _sure_ he can handle a couple o' goose-stepping krauts by himself. We'll get to him later." Suddenly swung his legs down from the table and rocking back onto his chair legs, clutched at his stomach. "Which reminds me, Britain—is this meeting done? I'm starving, man."

Canada was a little affronted by the nonchalance around the room. She herself had not yet the pleasure (or _displeasure_ judging by the way that the allies spoke of him just now) of ever meeting Netherlands personally before but she was sure he deserved to be saved just as much as anyone else in the room did. She knew they meant well and that the Allies _indeed_ did have their metaphorical plates full (what with word of Belgium and Luxembourg facing Nazi invasion as well) but freeing the Netherlands—it could be done, right? The longer they waited to strike back at the German frontier there, the harder it would be to break through their defenses they would undoubtedly build with the rock solid foundations of time. Her caring nature didn't take well to just how easily the Dutch nation's fate was brushed aside—it made her feel a swell of frustration and pity for the situation at hand but she would say no more on forcing the topic when everyone else was in agreement that there were more pressing matters on their agendas to tend to.

Canada reasoned with herself that these were some of the greatest nations of old she had on her side and that they would handle things accordingly. She was simply a novice after all, right? It served to reason that these some ancient countries should know their way around battlefields and strategies better than her. Perhaps she was too hasty in wanting to jump in to help so fast? No matter, for she had faith in these nations that she looked up to. She trusted them to do the right thing and without a doubt, they would find a way to aid the Dutch nation in months and if they were really lucky, weeks!

But that was all bullshit and she knew it.

Although she had some faith that these nations could accomplish great things, she remembered the first war all too clearly and the careless and foolhardy mistakes they had made before. She herself could hardly move without Britain's approval, so she practically had her hands tied. Even if the Great War _had_ finally distinguished herself as a nation and not a simple colony of Britain's, she was considered more of a tool rather than an ally. Canada had no plans of allowing this to remain any longer if too many lives were lost at the mistakes of Britain's insistence on holding back but for now there was nothing to do but follow orders. Hence, she decided she would bide her time but could only pray that Netherlands could hold on long enough for their aid to reach him because she had a truly bad feeling about this whole conundrum and when Canada had a gut feeling, she was hardly ever wrong.

After all, it wouldn't be long before they could help the Dutch nation out of his rut; not long at all.

But little did the hopeful nation know that she was wrong…very, very wrong.

* * *

 _September, 1944_  
 _Allied Report via Arthur Kirkland_  
 _900 hrs_

 _Netherlands soon to enter fourth year under Nazi Germany's occupation. Allied armies have begun marching on South German occupied Netherlands via France and Belgium. First airborne strike attempt at breaching German defenses have failed. Until next Allied attempt at liberation in the foreseeable future, Netherlands remains in the hands of Germany._

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, I hope that was enjoyable for everyone!**

 **I had originally planned to keep many more events in but I think that 20+ pages on the first chapter is pushing it, don't you? Therefore, I just saved it for the next coming chapter which** ** _will_** **be set in the present day (for the most part).**

 **I realize there were quite a few foreign languages/phrases in here so I've taken the liberty of translating them here for you (or rather google has so please correct me if these are wrong).**

 **TRANSLATIONS/PHRASES:**

 ***"moeder" translates from Dutch to "mother"**

 ***When Netherlands yells, "NAZI BASTAARD!" it is meant to be said in Dutch which apparently is practically the same as English.**

 ***"Ja" translates from German to "yes"**

 ***"Goede kleine marionet" translates to, "Good little puppet"This was very purposefully meant to be a very low and sharp remark from Netherlands towards Germany's mindlessly obedient actions during that dark time in history.**

 ***"Holländer" translates from German to "Dutchman"**

 ***"Mein freund" translates from German as, "my friend"  
**

 ***" _The game's afoot:_ _Follow your spirit, and upon this charge_ _Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!_ _"_ is a famous phrase from Shakespeare's play Henry V act iii scene i and is used as a encouraging war cry before rushing off into battle. I imagined Britain would say something like this to his troops before they ran into the jaws of death.  
**  
 ***"(ma) cherie" translates from French to "(my) dear" or "dearest" essentially.  
**

 **Lastly, "Mon Dieu" translates from French to "My God"**

 **And if you don't understand what Arthur means when he uses the word "wanker", I'll leave you to look that last one up at your own discretion.  
** **  
**

**Until next time!**


	2. There's No Time Like The Present

**Author's Note: Hello, again!**

 **I hope that the first chapter was well received and well liked in turn, just as I hope this chapter will be!**

 **In this chapter, we'll get a peak into how Netherlands views Canada, a World Conference (Lord, help us), a few lovable Hetalia characters as well as a brief introduction to a character that will be a regular in this story (hint, hint: she adores waffles).  
**

 **Disclaimer: I do not (unfortunately) own Hetalia or its characters! This is purely fanmade!**

* * *

 _ **"Something always brings me back to you...it never takes too long."**_  
 **-Gravity, Sara B** **areilles**

* * *

Netherlands walked through the halls of the grand government venue briskly; his every stride long and purposeful in steering him towards his destination. His scarf billowed behind him as he zipped right past other nations more idle in their pace without care. He was never really the most social nation and he was sure most others knew this so he made no effort in needless pleasantries and instead made his way to the large and familiar meeting room which he was required to sit in for the next couple hours going over tedious affairs.

Lord, he hated these World Conferences. To him, they were mostly a waste of time. He himself was never particularly fond of meetings unless they were of his own business. One would think that a world conference would actually deal with problems on a more _global_ scale but in Netherlands' experience, the topics tended to stray to conflicts between individual countries that were none of his concern—nothing but squabbling and issues that never seemed to be solved.

Go figure.

Regardless, it was a duty required of him and it was less trouble to attend than to miss it and be reproachfully labeled as unreliable. So, however much he dreaded these seemingly more and more frequent conferences, Netherlands was not one to neglect his duties. Still, did they really need so many meetings in the 21st century? A little group strategy might have been useless back when the _plague_ was in town.

By the time he walked through the conference room's large wooden doors, he was relieved to see that of the handful of nations that had already arrived, his sister was among one of them. Belgium offered him a bright smile as he pulled up a seat beside her. " _Goedemorgen_!" she greeted cheerfully in his native tongue as he sat. "Did you sleep well last night?" she asked in the usual pleasant manner she always spoke in. He nodded his response and pulled his chair closer to the table. Settling back into his chair, he took a look around the room and observed that the other nations already in the room were either seated at the table going over notes or standing in groups chatting idly. He also noticed that of the handful of countries in the room, unsurprisingly consisted mostly of the more punctual, disciplined and sterner nations such as Germany, Japan, Austria, Switzerland and in turn Liechtenstein. Although he _was_ surprised by a few of the nations that were also in early attendance to the meeting but were by no means business ready.

Prussia was already at the meeting too (his strict Germanic habits ran deeper than they appeared apparently) and contented himself in pestering Austria and Hungary who sat together, sipping on the tea provided while they waited; the albino nation getting a rise out of Elizaveta more so than the ever composed Roderich who continued to pay him no heed as he sipped on his preferred morning beverage. Prussia and Hungary's squabbling did nothing to awaken the Greek nation who was fast asleep in his chair, purposefully seated farthest away from Turkey who decided he would join in on the impromptu "Let's Piss off Miss Hungary Fest" taking place. Ukraine was also present, the buxom woman chatting merrily with Liechtenstein whose brother remained as silent and grouchy as ever; fixing his stare on anything _but_ the two females and staying well out of their conversation.

The Dutch nation noticed that Italy too was present—Germany was no doubt responsible for making painstakingly sure his once ally was up before noon since he probably would have simply overslept and missed the meeting entirely had he been left to his own devices—the auburn haired nation was currently whining at his stern friend and former ally that he was hungry since they had no time to eat before Germany dragged him to the meeting. The Germanic nation sighed patiently and promised him that if he bore through the meeting, he would treat the Italian to lunch. With both parties satisfied by the agreement, Germany went back to reading through the meeting's agenda he prepared so Italy turned to chat with Japan who sat to his left instead. Netherlands' eyes settled on the German nation and didn't move. Looking at the blonde nation raised a great unease in the Dutch nation.

The past was the past indeed but even if their differences _had_ been resolved some seventy years ago, he could not and would not forget all that he and his people (and indeed the world) had been subjected to at his hand. He was aware it was not entirely his fault—he was a nation, he knew that it was his government's decisions that he was bound to obey. Netherlands just wished Germany had tried a little harder _not_ to…

Just as his mind was in danger of falling into a pool of unpleasant memories, Bella's voice pulled him out of his brooding reverie, "Broer," she asked, "Are you listening?"

"Hm?" he hummed in question, his eyes still locked on Germany and elbows on the table while his hands remained tented in front of his mouth.

"Why do you look so stern? Thinking about business again?" She questioned but he redirected his gaze from the German nation elsewhere should she follow his eyes and figure out what he had been thinking about, knowing she would worry. Instead he simply shrugged, neither denying nor confirming anything.

Belgium however, took that as a yes and rolled her green eyes. "You think too much about business, broer," said she, shaking her head as she idly twirled a lock of short blonde hair around her finger. He simply shrugged once more, waiting for her to get back to her original question. Rolling her eyes once more at his constant shrugging, she reinstated, "I was just asking you if you were still free to come shopping with me tomorrow."

"Hm," he hummed in understanding.

"Is that a yes?" asked she.

He closed his eyes and nodded briefly. Belgium, used to his antics leaned further back in her chair contentedly. It wasn't an uncommon incident that Belgium should ask Netherlands out to lunch or to accompany her on one of her errands. They were close siblings and did spend a great deal of their free time together but despite this, Netherlands had on many an occasion been far too busy to join his little sister on one of her lighthearted escapades. Keeping up with business and finances (as well as personal errands) was important to him—" _money makes the world go 'round_ " was his sacred mantra and he spent all the time he needed making sure his nation had plenty of it especially with the global recession nowadays. He was in a way grateful that Belgium so often double checked with him and his ever fluctuating schedule and although far from agreeable with his so-called "stingy" character she never chastised him for his business tycoon nature, believing that she herself had been the root of his money lust.

"Maybe we can go out for fondue as well. Heck, maybe we should go out for some after this." She said lightly, leaning forward onto the table, cupping her face in her hands with a dreamy smile plastered on her face. "I could really go for some right about now."

Netherlands spared his sister a snort as he glanced at her blissful expression from the corner of his eyes. She was a bit of a "foody" as the youngsters nowadays would say. She delighted in gourmet food and all things delicious—he expected that France's love of haute cuisine had rubbed off on his sister (he had made sure it was the _only_ thing of France's that _rubbed_ off on her besides language). It was quite amusing indeed to watch the good-natured Belgium's face turn sour whenever she was faced with an American waffle or most other second rate "authentic" cuisine. One time she had almost got into a spat with the aforementioned nation over Belgian Waffles—the European nation had been incensed when the American, having visited Belgium, made a remark about being disappointed by the 'hype" of Belgian waffles and went on adding insult to injury by saying that he "had better" at a dinner just outside of Jersey. If there hadn't been a room full of witnesses, Netherlands thought his sister might have sent the American to an early grave.

Netherlands refrained from scoffing at the memory, his eyes following the Nordic nations that now entered the meeting room. For a group that consisted of three out of five semi-mutes, they seemed to come in loudly. Denmark was of course loudest, laughing way too hard at his own joke that the rest of the group didn't find quite so amusing. Norway, who the Dane looked more specifically at for a reaction gave none spare for a sharp "shut up" in his surprisingly deep baritone. Iceland trailed behind the group, quietly feeding the pet puffin perched upon his shoulder a salted licorice. Besides Denmark, the rest of the group was stoic as ever spare for Tino; the Finnish man graciously giggling at Denmark's joke before turning to chat merrily to Sweden who tugged uncomfortably at his tie as he took a seat just a few paces away from the Dutchman.

Netherlands didn't mind the last two nations; Tino was polite and lovable while Berwald…well, the murderous looking nation was quiet and kept Denmark in check whenever the spiky haired nation got out of hand (which was more often than not). He felt something akin to empathy in the shared personal similarities in the Swedish man's address. Like himself, he was tall, quiet, aloof and by no means social spare for the people he knew well enough.

Gazing upon the faces of the countless nations pouring in for the day's event, he realized there were not many he was well acquainted with beyond business or diplomatic relations. Not that he cared very much—he was a solitary and independent person. He always had been so it wasn't surprising to find that he didn't like most of the people in the room (well, he was fond of Romano and Japan wasn't a bad trading partner). He didn't hold anyone in the room who wasn't his sister with any particularly high regard, well perhaps one person but he couldn't spot the lucky nation in the room.

Netherlands sighed, growing impatient. His eyes skimmed over the other nations in the room to find that Romano was now sat purposefully between Germany and his brother, glaring steadily at the former whenever his brother should speak to the sculpted blond and willfully ignoring the disheveled Spaniard beside him who no doubt had been running late this morning and was apologizing to the Italian about just that. France was flirting with a pretty server sat on the left of an annoyed Britain who had been zipping in and out of the room since Holland first entered, arranging his affairs and who knows what else. He now sat down beside the newly arrived America who was fixated on a portable gaming console of sorts, tongue sticking out in concentration.

God, how he ever lost his hold over _that_ idiot to the two even _bigger_ idiots the American was situated beside was beyond him.

Leaning his mouth on his hand, he drummed the fingers of his free hand on the polished wooden tabletop in an impatient tempo. Netherlands loathed waiting for these meetings to start. He certainly wasn't the social type so he couldn't pass the time and socialize quite so easily as his sister on his left, now engaged in a lighthearted conversation in French with Seychelles.

He stifled a yawn, staring down at the tabletop. It was an early morning and he was tired from the flight here to London. He never knew how to feel about Britain hosting these events in all honestly. There was no lack of hospitality surely but that was perhaps where the problem lay—Britain, of course, arranged everything right down to _refreshments_. No one spare from Alfred ever felt brave enough to try the ominous pile of scones amongst the other questionable British snacks offered but everybody agreed that the tea offered was lovely and the coffee passable.

He blinked heavily and sighed, resigned to perhaps simply resting his eyes before he cast one last lazy glance around the room before his eyes locked onto a discrepancy. It was then that he saw her—he had almost missed her, one moment the chair on the other end of the very long conference table was empty and like magic, she was sat in it the next. He would have argued with himself that he must have missed her entrance because of her uncanny ability to just blend into the background—anyone could have easily blamed this fact but it was not true for him—he always saw her, even when no one else did. Ever since the day that he first laid eyes on her, he never lost sight of her.

Canada sat by her lonesome self, idly sipping at a cup of coffee she had helped herself to (since most of the servers didn't notice her and therefore didn't ask her if she needed anything brought to her). Netherlands recalled with amusement that this one, she _loved_ her coffee.

A sudden nostalgia swept over him as he watched the young woman, a newfound alertness in him that completely dispelled any feelings of drowsiness he might have felt moments before. He found that he always felt a strange way whenever he saw the North American nation—she always served to bring up memories of his time under Germany's occupation. What was most surprising about this was the fact that the memories she always drawn from his unconscious mind of those gruesome years weren't always entirely horrible. In fact some good memories came from his acquaintance of her. Of course, he owed his life and the lives of thousands of his people to her. It was strange to even think that he was practically clueless as to who the young nation was before she liberated him.

Yes, he very easily recalled the first lasting impact Canada made on his life—the very first time of many that she had lent him her aid...

 _Two years had come and gone in a disastrous whirl of ashes and death. Centuries ago it seemed to Netherlands when Germany raided his lands, killed his men and stole his freedom. Briefly after the so called promises of safety or leaving the city unharmed on terms of surrender were made, any false intentions of honouring said agreement had been thrown out the window when the Nazis bombed the city center into bits. When Netherlands eyes finally fluttered open after his abrupt loss of consciousness at the hand of the very nation that had reaped the destruction of his lands, they were met with flames and sickening clouds of smoke that rose from the city center, engulfed in flame._

 _It all seemed so long ago to him but he could recall each and every detail with startling clarity._

 _Now, two springs later Holland walked aimlessly through the once picturesque streets of Rotterdam, his beloved home now nothing but rubble. Within days of their invasion, the Nazis had flooded and destroyed their farmlands, ruining centuries of hard work from both himself and his people. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Two years…two years and he was still helpless. His lands ruined, people living in ruin and fear and almost every Jewish resident was steadily being packed up and shipped of the country to God knows where. The thought would give him nightmares if he ever got any sleep these days. The fact that his country was so weak against the monster that was Germany and his army, that he couldn't very much help his own people, that no one in the outside seemed to even care; it gnawed at his soul._

 _"Netherlands," A familiar voice called out to him._

 _The nation cocked his head behind him to see the approaching once-mayor, stepping over debris (that no one had ever gotten around to clearing) with care. So much had changed—even the mayor (unsurprisingly) seemed to have aged considerably within these two years. "Netherlands," he called again as he approached, frowning grimly. "We seem to be an unlucky bunch."_

 _"I would agree." Netherlands muttered, slowly lowering himself down on a concrete slab amongst the rubble of what used to be their city center. "I know your dramatics, Müller. Spit it out." He said tiredly rubbing his aching neck._

 _"The Queen fears it is no longer safe in England. She feels it would be safer to seek refuge farther west—away from the fighting." Netherlands looked up at the once plump mayor who had slimmed considerably from the stress and lack of food being circulated nowadays. This man was an unlucky one in office._

 _Queen Juliana, a just and proper monarch was an intelligent woman having fled his lands with her family merely two days after the invasion for the safety England had offered her and her government who remained in exile. Netherlands couldn't blame her speedy departure—she and her government had been opposed to Hitler back in the 30's during his rise to power. God knows there would be a hefty price on her head should she be caught in the Nazi grasp._

 _Holland nodded and moved his gaze to the mostly destroyed city he loved, trying very hard to keep the fury he felt at bay. "Are you surprised she is intelligent enough to detect hazard in England? London is crawling with Nazi spies." Britain was undoubtedly the biggest obstacle and therefore target in the Furher's way of winning this war swiftly he thought. Holland exhaled deeply, dreading the thought of what a Nazi victory would mean for the world._

 _"Of course not, sir" The mayor denied any lack of faith in his sovereign. Bringing the topic back to another point of interest, the Netherlands leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. "Both her and her family is safe?" he asked._

 _"As far as I have heard, yes." The mayor sighed, pulling out a grubby handkerchief from his suit pocket and mopping his forehead with it as he spoke, fatigued, "Her husband and mother will still reside in England though as her and her children relocate in the west where she has been offered refuge."_

 _He nodded briefly. He figured she planned to reside in the United States; West was certainly the safest place to go and he was pleasantly surprised America was so quick to agree in taking his monarch in (with such a trail of misfortunes that might dare follow) which could mean some serious consequences should her host face the censure of Hitler for harbouring her if things took a turn for the worst. "Which state?" he questioned._

 _"Sir?" The mayor was confused._

 _Netherlands glanced back at the mayor, vexed. Frankly, the mayor's confusion confused him. "Where in America will she reside in?" He reinstated, a little annoyed at having to rephrase such an obvious question._

 _"Sir, she's not going to America." Müller answered shortly. "To the north", he concluded. Netherlands straightened and gave him an impatient look that prompted an immediate explanation. "She has been granted safe refuge in Canada."_

 _"Canada?" Netherlands' brow furrowed. He pondered this for a brief moment as the former Mayor of Rotterdam spoke, "Yes. She and her children have been welcomed to live out their exile in the country's capital called uh..." the mayor seemed to struggle with this for a moment, "Oh yes,_ Ottawa _...strange names indeed." He mumbled as an afterthought but then gestured vaguely as he continued. "Passing through some place called Halifax first of course but…"_

 _The mayor mumbled on about the apparent stops on the Queen's coming journey by boat then by train and so on but the nation had stopped listening for he was far too busy mulling over the prospect of relying on Canada to aid his monarch and her future bloodlines._

 _Netherlands had never met this new nation. In fact he had quite forgotten its existence entirely. He didn't even know what he or she for that matter looked like. He didn't think on it long however and only thought about the safety of his ruler. "That's fine then." What he did know about Canada was it had every vast land full of dense wilderness that would be an ideal hide away for anyone looking for a place not to be found. He wasn't expecting much from the Allied nations in terms of hurrying over to help him but he certainly wasn't expecting such a young nation to be the one to take on such a responsibility for his land's political power and her safety._

 _Turning his green eyes to the sky, he wondered what the coming days would bring. He was by no means a fool and by no means foolishly hopeful—he was a realist. For he knew in his gut that lands flooded, Jews relocated and a city center left in ashes was only the beginning. Sighing, he closed his eyes and resigned to himself that he would do what he and his people had always done—grit his teeth and bear through it. He had turned out to be right, however. Yet what was soon to come was far worse than he could have imagined to have suffered under German occupation, beyond simple subjugation. Soon, Netherlands would come to face an enemy no weapon could wound, no man could kill—not even his underground team of Dutch rebels could by any means fend off or fight; hunger._

 _But that was to come much later and even though this problem was delayed, there were plenty of other bumps in the road that seemed to hit Netherlands one right after the other. It seemed that hardly a day could pass by without some new conflict or struggle—each blow it seemed left him reeling. It became a common thing, the mayor popping out of nowhere bringing more unhappy tidings than Holland could bear to count. It wasn't much time before the pressure began to grate on Netherlands' patient character. Yet, the next time the mayor would visit Netherlands with an update on the Queen's exile, it was news that turned out to be something Holland was not expecting in the slightest._

 _"Netherlands," the mayor had started as he invited himself into Netherlands' house (or what was left of it), "I have news." Now, had it been before the war, had his country not been in ruins, had Netherlands not been so exhausted by simply trying to survive each day and Müller barged into his house like this (uninvited no less), he would have thrown the vague politician straight out on his ass—acquaintance or not. Netherlands eyed the man with mild annoyance and a hint of dread—the mayor always spoke like this whenever he had bad news. Lord, all Netherlands needed was more bad news. The nation sighed shortly and turned to the city official abruptly, taking a seat. "What is it now, Müller? You always have some show of dramatics before you tell me something."_

 _"Well the mayor said, pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiping the sweat from his forehead (a nervous habit Netherlands had observed of him) with it before continuing, "Astonishing news, indeed" said he._

 _"What?" Holland snapped in irritation. Although he was indeed intrigued by the man's curious remark, God knew these years had not been kind to the nation and he didn't quite have the patience like he used to for yet another turn of events that could slam him into the dust._

 _The last time he had proclaimed there was news to be had he started with, "I fear it would take the hand of God to save us now", thoroughly vexed, Netherlands had replied, "God indeed."_

 _Upon inquiring what news there was to be had, the mayor had rambled on in his usual way; "Good or bad news I can't quite say," he said before he proceeded to tell Willem that Queen Juliana was with a child. He then understood what the mayor had meant when he mentioned dubious news. News of a royal baby was as wonderful as any other news of pregnancy yet under these circumstances it took on a less appealing shine._

 _It was nine months ago that he had heard of this news._

 _Netherlands suddenly turned grim. Any line of a future heir was needed—especially in times of war such as these—the more plausible heirs, the better. Yet, it was law that a child of royal blood was acquired citizenship of his land from birth and having that happen was impossible—all Juliana had was her refuge in exile and there was no way she could have risked the return to Netherlands to bare the child. In short, if the child was born in Canada, it would be an ineligible heir. Even if Juliana and her children were survived by the child should they meet an untimely end during or after this war, the child would still not be a legitimate heir and the monarchy would begin to crumble under the strain of an absent rightful heir. This greatly impacted the power of his monarchy and its government. Should Netherlands make it through this war alive, the people would need a strong system to pull them through and rebuild the shattered fragments of their lives back up again._

 _He sighed, already having an idea of where this was going but gestured for the mayor to speak anyways._

 _The mayor paused, seeming utterly relieved. This did not escape the Dutchman's notice and he stared curiously at the man opposite of him. He hadn't quite seen this politician seem quite so relaxed about anything in three years._ _T_ hree years _, Willem thought bitterly,_ three years of hell.

 _"The Queen has given birth to a_ princess _," Müller actually smiled, "They are both in wonderful health."_

 _Netherlands relaxed fractionally only to realize how tense he had been. "Good," he nodded, pleased at the news but stopped upon catching the mayor's expression of anticipation directed at the nation who in turn raised an eyebrow at the man's strange behaviour._

 _"A princess, Holland, a_ princess _" said the aged man jovially, eyes alight with sheer delight._

 _Netherlands' frowned however, not understanding the mayor's sudden cheekiness and by no means entertained. "Yes, I heard you—what of it?" He muttered irritably before he froze, looking up at the mayor once he had caught his meaning. He straightened, "Müller," he grounded out in a stern warning, urging him to explain himself._

 _"We have an official princess, sir." He said proudly, "Her citizenship has been declared that of a bonafide Dutch child and therefore officially—," who knows how long he would have gone on before he go to the point if Netherlands had not haughtily snapped, "Yes, yes but how?" he hissed, losing his patience. He was far beyond the ability to stomach pleasantries right now and was too eager to know just exactly what was going on._

 _Müller at least had the decency to look abashed for his rambling nature under Holland's glower and cleared his throat before saying, "The Canadian government worked tirelessly to declare the maternity wing of the uh…" he paused in thought, chasing down the name that always seemed to escape his mind. Netherlands' glare must have jogged his memory because he snapped his fingers and proudly produced the name, "Ottawa Civic Hospital as extraterritorial."_

 _The blond nation's green eyes narrowed in thought, "Extraterritorial," he murmured thoughtfully to himself. How much effort would it take to pull off a stunt like that? he wondered._

 _The mayor nodded, "It was quite a hat trick—very clever of Canada, I must say, very obliging. To think they actually disclaimed their territory for the child." He shook his head in merry disbelief._

 _That got Netherlands' attention, "Disclaimed their territory?"_

 _The mayor lowered himself into a rickety chair opposite the nation slowly and continued, "Yes. Something about their rule of law;_ jus soli," he said, rolling himself a cigarette he _had no doubt been saving as luxuries such as a pack of smokes were non-existent nowadays and lit it swift practiced motions._

 _"'Right of Soil'" murmured Netherlands in understanding, wringing his hands together, suddenly wishing he had his pipe on him._

 _Müller shook the flame off his match and but made sure not to toss it away onto Netherlands' floors while nodding idly, "it would have been problematic in regards to the child's citizenship." Taking a few puffs he handed the cigarette to Netherlands who graciously accepted and took a long, well deserved drag, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs steadily before blowing it out once more. The familiarity of it all made him feel a little less certain that his world was coming to an end._

 _"Our laws, of course, favour the rule of_ jus sanguinus _." The mayor accepted his cigarette back from the nation._

 _Right of Blood, Netherlands reasoned in his head. He thanked whatever higher power there was up there that his government followed this law, especially in light of this specific incident. Quite frankly, if it hadn't been for that, they might have been_ screwed _._

 _"So, with the Canadian government claiming the land as extraterritorial and taking into consideration the Dutch attitude of_ jus sanguinus _, the child will—"_

 _Netherlands finished for him, "the child will immediately take on the citizenship of her mother—_ voila _, a princess." He finished with little humour though well pleased._

 _"I tell you," began Müller, "I don't know how we'll ever repay those Canadians." The mayor savoured his cigarette for a moment then pointed it at the nation as he spoke, "That nation is something else I tell you. They're celebrating in the capital, playing Dutch music, too! They even swapped out their own flag on their parliament building for_ yours _."_

 _Netherlands was taken aback by this. That was undoubtedly an extreme sign of respect and accommodating. His colours, his flag erected? He felt amazingly humbled and extremely pleased by this news indeed. He wasn't sure he had ever done something to have deserved such special treatment from another nation let alone this one he had never even met before._

 _"All to celebrate a royal that isn't theirs." The wrinkled man laughed shortly, shaking his head in delight. Müller seemed cheerful enough about it, if not a little shocked himself. Meanwhile, Netherlands was trying to wrap his head around this news—how would he ever repay such generosity indeed?_

 _"So much trouble," the nation muttered, wondering why the nation would go to such selfless lengths to help him and the Queen's family._

 _"From what I heard," said Müller, "it was largely due to the nation, you know, one like_ you _. This Canada fellow had a large hand in making sure that we would have a princess—pulled a lot of strings so to speak."_

 _Netherlands felt lighter than he had in, well, in_ years. _It felt like one of the enormous weights settled on his shoulders had been lifted. He felt like a small battle had been won even if he was far from winning anything at this point. Then, he felt a surge of determination. He would survive this, himself be damned, if not only long enough to thank this Canada for all the young nation had done..._

The meeting being called to order severed the string of memories in his mind and he stifled a sigh. Leaning back in his chair, he ran a leather-gloved hand through his styled blonde locks. _Finally_ , he thought as he brought his focus back to the meeting. Germany kicked off the meeting in a formal and orderly fashion as was regular of the meticulous nation and Netherlands was resolved to pay close attention to the problematic matters brought forth in the meeting.

He wondered just why he had fallen so deep into his memories so quickly. He was a deep thinker and an innovator definitely but he was certainly _not_ a daydreamer or the type of person to zone out so easily. Netherlands had always been a forward thinking and concentrated man so it was strange for him to experience such a lapse in focus even when he was indeed bored.

Shifting his gaze to Canada clear across the room, he blamed his unspeakably horrid focus this morning on her. She always seemed to distract him as he never knew exactly how to feel or act whenever his once saviour was in the same room as him especially after all those years. And to think, he didn't even recall what gender she was before he met her face to face. How his perception of Canada had shifted even then! He certainly held her in high esteem, this he knew. Though he was not the type to admit it to anyone spare himself, he felt a particular interest in her; an infatuation that over the years had begun to morph and change into something perhaps a little more than gratitude for her aiding him in the past . In fact, he thought highly of her—more than anyone else he had known before. In the past, he had been slow to realize this but as the decades rolled on by, he began to understand the unusual endearment he felt towards the young nation.

Hell, he was lying to himself if he said that it was as simple a feeling as gratitude or endearment held for a past liberator that drove him to think of her but instead a deep and aching fascination for a woman he was so passionately ensnared by. Still, he found he could hardly ever think of her without his mind reeling with images from the past, when his destiny was first bound to her. She had an awful habit of leaving him thinking, trapped within his own thoughts. Regardless of how good she was at leading his concentration astray, he forced his attention back to the meeting. As much as he hated these conferences, any uninteresting lecture on world issues was preferable to zoning out in Lala Land gone to hell.

He refused to fall into that trap again and told himself that one more peek at her expression would bring the satisfaction he so desperately needed so he could finally focus on the meeting. So, he helped himself again to glancing at her, her whose soft violet-blue eyes were locked onto whichever speaker with rapt attentiveness as she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose delicately, hanging on each word relayed to the attendees. It only took him one more wayward glance at a quiet blonde nation before he could regain his focus for the rest of the meeting…mostly

* * *

"This resolves today's World Conference" said Germany, tapping his papers into order on the tabletop, briefly tucking them away into a manila folder. With that settled the room broke into a low murmur of conversation and sounds of shuffling movement from all nations who were either stretching their bodies from the long sit, organizing documents or simply conversing with each other.

Of these, Netherlands stood and favoured a brief stretch. With his hands on his back he loosened his tense muscles in a deliciously satisfying stretch, feeling a few vertebrae in his back pop into place. This meeting had been one particularly dry and he was in great need of fresh air and a smoke. The nation snorted briefly to himself; _wrap your head around that paradox if you can_ , he thought.

It was then his eyes caught hold of a certain western nation, standing up and smoothing out her rather modest grey pantsuit as she carefully gathered her things. He watched as she delicately tucked a stray blonde wisp of hair that had escaped its neat low bun back behind her ear and out of her face.

"Finally!" exclaimed Bella jovially, bobbing up from her seat beside him, and pulling on her coat eagerly. "We're free!"

Netherlands, aggressively agreed with her sentiment and was just about ready to _sprint_ the hell out of this place and as far away from Arthur's scones as he could but refrained from the athletics as he watched Canada suddenly halt in her packing up upon hearing the boisterous laugh of her brother, Alfred. She had glanced up to look at the laughing American, finding nothing out of the usual at first before doing a double-take—this was when her hands stopped moving. Netherlands' eyes followed with curiosity to see whatever it was that had caught her attention. America laughed heartily at whatever the grouchy British nation had said while slapping the blonde man's back fondly. Britain looked as pissy as usual but his expression seemed a little less hostile towards the American than it would for most other nations. Thinking on it now, Arthur always did seem a tad more favourable towards Alfred than anyone else.

Confused, he watched as Canada gazed at the two, an unreadable expression on her face before she caught herself staring. Quickly, she snapped out of her own reverie and gathered her affects with greater haste, suddenly eager to depart. Netherlands' eyes narrowed in admitted interest.

"Now we can get something to eat!" Belgium chirped beside him, buttoning up her coat with renewed enthusiasm at the thought of lunch. "Though I doubt there are very few restaurants here in London aren't death sentences," said Belgium lightly as she grabbed her things, her next words sounding an awful lot like something France would say. "I would say that we could stop over in Paris for dinner but I'm not sure I can wait that long to eat but I don't think it is worth risking my delicate palate to a mouthful of eel pie or whatever in God's name Britain likes. What do you think?"

Netherlands hadn't been listening very closely but his attention was drawn back to Belgium by her question, his sister ready and eager to go. Tearing his eyes away from Canada, he turned on his heel and led the way out the door but not before muttering, "No, let's eat here. I hear London's 'fish n' chips' are decent" as he stalked away.

* * *

Following Netherlands' suggestion, the two siblings stopped for lunch at a restaurant by the Thames River for some surprisingly edible and even more shockingly scrumptious fish n' chips. Bella had been pleasantly surprised and made no complaint as they ate. The two strolled around gloomy London, idling in shops and at strange little street stands along the way until it unsurprisingly began to pour. With the rain dampening the mood, their brief lunch break and outing was decidedly short lived. Belgium invited him to Paris with her as she was stopping by to visit France before she went on home. This was an offer Netherlands declined, deciding that he wasn't quite up for sipping coffee with the foppish and handsy nation. Claiming that he had other things to do (and being sure that Belgium could hold her own with France) was enough to deter Belgium from insisting on his company and the two went their separate ways, Belgium to France and Netherlands to his home.

It was already evening by the time he reached his home. The early morning flights, meeting, the adventures in London and the bonus flight back to his home had tired him. The day's events had sapped him of his energy and it was far too late in the day to start on any truly useful projects so Netherlands resigned himself to tidying up his already spotless house before it was time to go to bed. He'd be damned if he didn't get something useful done today. That was another reason he hated these dreadful conferences—there was so much more substantial work to be done in his own time but now with a conference today, he had practically wasted a day of what could have been completed projects and a job well done. There was to a continuation of the meeting in two weeks—one he wasn't looking forward to since it meant even less work to be done in a a fortnight.

Oh, well. At least if he cleaned now it would leave more time for him to attend to heavier projects with more attentiveness. Since more time for detail meant better a finished product, it was a great advantage indeed. Steadily, Netherlands cleaned and scrubbed and polished until he was satisfied with the level of cleanliness in each room. He was just about done in the kitchen when the phone rang. Raising a brow and draping his wash cloth over his shoulder, he crossed the kitchen to pick up the phone.

" _Hallo_?" He greeted rather absentmindedly, wondering if he should take the take the time to clean the chords of the vintage phone when a cheerful and heavily accented voice on the other end of the line sounded loudly through the phone, " _¡Hola!_ "

Netherlands slammed the phone down on the receiver, hanging up immediately. His face darkened considerably as he sneered at the phone. _Spanish idiot_ , he thought indignantly. Huffing to himself, he went back to wiping down the breakfast bar once more; this time with more energy than before, fueled by aggravation. He was about halfway through wiping down its smooth granite surface when the phone rang again. Netherlands sent the phone a withering glare so nasty that by rights it should have burst into flame. Tossing the damp cloth onto the counter with more force than necessary, he cursed under his breath and strode over to the phone, picking it up and hissing a nasty, " _What?_ " into it.

There was a pause from the other line before a voice that was certainly not Spain's idiotic tenor spoke up, sounding more than a little affrighted "M-Mr. Netherlands, sir?"

The Dutchman relaxed fractionally then hummed in response, for once glad he hadn't gone straight into telling the Spaniard off over the phone. "Yes?" he said, calmer now that the caller was indeed not the bane of his existence that was Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo but instead the voice of the young man which spoke up once more from the other end of the line, "Good evening sir. On behalf of the company, we apologize for calling you around this time but we couldn't get through to you earlier today."

Netherlands repressed a sigh, "I was at a conference" he said in lieu of explanation.

"Yes, well, we thought we'd call you for your own convenience to tell you that all the tulips bulbs are in perfect condition and will be ready to be shipped to Canada by the scheduled times so you don't need to hassle yourself coming over to the fields to see it done since we know your time is precious, sir."

Netherlands glanced up at the calendar that hand over the phone, his eyes drawn to the date circled in red; May 5th. He noticed the twin marking one square before it, on the fourth. It had been filled out in a rushed scrawl, "World Conference: New York". Ah yes, he had almost forgotten that the next conference was held in the United States and no less the day before Canada and his anniversary—that is to say of her liberating him and what became the lovely tradition of him gifting her with thousands upon thousands of his beloved tulips. Perhaps he could simply spend the night in the States or more preferably in the north, in the city of Ottawa where he would gift her his tulips. The idea sounded far superior in making a useless trip back home only to return the next day or to spending the night in New York. He lingered on the thought for an immeasurable moment before the voice on the other end inquiring after him brought him back to earth.

His response was immediate, "Hm. Even so, I wish to inspect them before they are chosen and packed away as always." Netherlands made a habit inspecting each batch of the blooms that would be harvested and plucked for his soft spoken recipient—Canada would only receive his best tulips and no less than that.

"Yes, of course, Mr. Netherlands, sir" said the man. Most everyone called him Mr. Netherlands, Holland or just plain Netherlands more than his given name as was the way he preferred it. Very few people ever got to call him by name, most of which he was most intimate or extremely fond of which was a rarity in and of itself—needless to say, he heard himself being called by Netherlands an awful lot more than Willem Leonhardt. "I hope you have a good night sir."

Netherlands hummed his response and hung up the phone, this time with much more care than before. He stared at the marked holiday on his calendar of what was to be the 70th anniversary of his liberation from Nazi occupation thoughtfully. 70 years had gone by yet it seemed to pass in the blink of an eye for him. After all for a nation his age, centuries didn't seem nearly so long. He remembered it all so vividly. But maybe it only seemed this way because of the world's remarkable change and fast paced progression during the 20th century. Maybe he owed it to the nature of what he was as a nation, where time seemed less important. Or perhaps he owed his particularly sharp memories of those events to a certain nation who with violet eyes and golden waves liberated him only to unknowingly captivate him for herself.

Drumming his fingers on the phone momentarily, he decided that the kitchen had been thoroughly cleaned and that it was way past his bedtime. It was only 9 o'clock at night to be sure but what else could he blame such unacceptably mawkish thoughts on expect fatigue? He didn't let himself think on the question for very long for he had already changed and slipped into bed, intent on the blissful thoughtlessness of sleep.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Well, there we have it!**

 **I am pleasantly surprised that I enjoy writing Willem's character so much. Don't worry, we'll get to Canada's side of this story eventually.**

 **I found it strangely easy writing scenes involving the world conference and I'd like to think that I portrayed each Hetalia character mentioned well and hopefully their exuberant characters shone through! Let me know what you think!**

 **I hope you enjoyed the World Conference because there will be _plenty_ more taking place in this story. Brace yourself, my dears.**

 ** _Translations:_**

 ** _"Broer" translates from Dutch to "Brother"_**

 ** _"Hallo" translates from Dutch to (you guessed it) "hello"_**

 ** _"¡Hola!" translates from Spanish to (wouldn't you know it?) "hello"_**

 **(as a brief side note: I enjoyed writing Netherlands hanging up on Spain _waaaaay_ to much and plan to make his dislike of Spain and hanging up on him a running joke throughout this story)**

Feel free to send me any questions you may have! Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. Meetings in Manhattan

**Author's Note:**

 **Hello! Back with another chapter!**

 **This is a brief warning that plan on putting my own spin on Canada's character based off what I believe her character to be like with an average Canadian mentality that lurks behind her shyness (being your average Canadian, I know this very well). So people might see her character resembling 2P Canada a little later on in the story if things go the way I originally planned them. But three chapters in and I'm already starting to wonder if that idea is headed straight out the window! You never know.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I do not own Hetalia or it's characters but I'd like too because then I would literally own the world.**

 **With that joke falling DEAD on arrival, allow me to distract you with a new chapter.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _"No act of kindness, no matter how small, is ever wasted."  
-Aesop_**

* * *

 _It had been four years now,_ four God forsaken years _and he were still stuck this way—every day was an agonizing struggle. Most of his rebellions had failed and were met with heinous consequences. Germany in general never had a very good sense of humour, so his Nazis never entertained disobedience or opposition very well. So many of Willem's comrades had fallen and so many of his people were dead or wasting away._

 _If things had been bad in the early years of the occupation, this was downright_ unimaginable _. Ever since the Hunger Winter began, his people began to fall like petals of a withering flower both inside and outside Rotterdam but none so poetic. The damn Nazis seemed desperate to starve them out and finish them off. With practically nothing to eat, his people were forced to eat tulip bulbs in a feeble attempt to stay fed. Netherlands himself was gaunt and emaciated and that was an awfully polite description. What was worst to him, more painful than a million bombs pelting his lands was the anguish of seeing his people so frail, so sickly and so desolate. He had witnessed mothers wail inconsolably over the death of young children and babies by starvation, even if the mothers had given all they could scrape up to feed their children, starving themselves in the process. The old, the young, all ages seemed to be nothing but skin over skeletons—malnourished and starving. It was as if he was watching everything he loved crumble before him—he was watching a terrible story unfold right before his very eyes, one that did not have a happy ending._ _Although prisoner to his own lands, Netherlands was never clueless about the world outside_ his _problems. He had heard news, whispers of the atrocities committed, ruin, disease, the battles lost and the sins against humanity brought to light._

 _War, Famine, Pestilence and Death—he wasn't a particularly religious man but he felt as if the days of judgement were upon them all. It was as the book of Revelations said; for when the Four Horseman of the Apocalypse ride, so shall dawn the end of days._ _To him, it certainly seemed like the end of days were already_ here _._

 _Shells bombarded the earth; Netherlands felt each blast with an acute agony only another nation could truly understand. He couldn't last much longer. He knew that now. With each passing day he felt himself grow weaker, with every moment more despairing. His people starved and so did he; his people were in despair and so was he. It was a strange thing being a nation—sometimes he couldn't tell if he was their strength or they were his. Regardless, there was one thing that he understood with horrifying clarity; if the German hold on his lands did not relent, he would fade away. Who would look after his people then?_

 _He gritted his teeth at the thought. No, he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't die like this. He just needed to hold out long enough for help but how? His lands were in ruins and the Germans controlled his precious ports, seizing what assets they could to cut off Dutch aid to the allies and vice versa. The Germans were indeed punishing him for his former business with the allies among other things._

 _He knew he had to stay strong but he also knew that something had to give. It was only a matter of time before either the war came to an end or he did and by the way things were looking, death was wrapping at his door. Day to day he did his best to support his people, to make sure everyone was as safe as they could be under the circumstances but things couldn't go on this way for much longer and he was running out of options. All his attempts at freedom before were put down swiftly. His only rewards for his actions were the grave consequences he had been left to face._

 _He had to think of something but he was so weak—h_ _e couldn't remember the last time he ate. As a nation, he really didn't need food spare for once every once and a while to keep him going, after all he wasn't human. At this time, he saw his ability to outlast a human under starvation as a great advantage. So, Willem took to the habit of fasting just so there would be more food circulated for his people since he could handle it. It wouldn't kill him yet but God, had it drained him._

 _He was so weak now. His mind, though slowed by lack of proper nutrients, was still sharp and after couple moments of thought, he successfully recalled that it had been a fortnight since he had last eaten. The thought was unpleasant but he steeled himself to ignore the hunger pangs that threatened to tear him apart from the inside. He was ravenous but refused to give into his hunger. If his fasting did even the smallest good for his people, that was enough for him. What was more ghastly than the churning of his empty stomach was the knowledge that he was running out of ideas and time to find a way to sustain himself and his people. That was much harder to bear than any physical pain he had faced._

 _He was pulled from his thoughts by the low hum of plane propellers. It wasn't an uncommon sound nowadays—in fact it was all he ever seemed to hear anymore. Still, he turned his gaze to the sky, readying himself for what he assumed to be another allied effort to root the Germans out by more painful bombing raids. He squinted into the sky, eyeing the cargo being dropped from the plane, expecting bombs but met by quite the unusual sight indeed._

 _Dozens upon dozens of wooden crates floated down the sky in their own parachutes. What in God's name...?_

 _Some other locals peeked timidly through their ruined house windows or slowly made their way out onto the street, pointing and gawking at the spectacle. Boxes floated down to the earth in a mesmeric sway and by the time the first boxes had touched down, the plane was already out of sight. One crate had touched down a few feet to his right and a murmur passed through the Dutch people as the nation knelt down and scrutinized the mysterious crate that was marked both in English and French, "CARE PACKAGE: ROTTERDAM/ COLIS DE PROVISIONS: ROTTERDAM "._

 _Netherlands' brow furrowed and he wasted no time in prying the top off the box with his own two hands. Weak or no, he was still stronger than any average human. Placing the lid aside he peered into the crate, brushing aside the mess of protective packaging crinkle paper and his eyes widened._ _The crate was neatly filled with food; boxes and bags of supplies with everything from food to first aid kits to medicine filled the carefully packed container. He looked around at his people who had taken his lead and began prying open the crates with tools. Some had gathered around him, peering over his shoulders to get a look at the mysterious packages._

 _"There is food! And medicine!" One man exclaimed in explanation for the gathering crowd of Dutch folk._

 _"There is fuel in this one!" said another man in astonishment._

 _"It's a miracle!" cried a middle aged woman who hugged her child close to her in elation._

 _Just like that, there came a buzz among the people. He could feel their excitement tingle beneath his skin. Their joy and relief enabled him to breathe again without the crushing weight of their hopelessness. The low buzz of the blessed relief plane was once again heard as it passed back, no doubt having turned back around and headed back to its base wherever that might be. The Dutch people, many too preoccupied with the care packages, cheered and waved up at the plane in gratitude._

 _Most could be imagined too overwhelmed with relief and gratitude to think of who they owed their thanks to. Netherlands however, was not. He stared up at the plane, examining the aircraft as best as he could before it zipped out of sight again._

 _It was definitely an allied plane. Definitely not American—it bore no star. The plane was similar to a British plane with circular symbols resembling a bullseye on the wings and tail._

 _Yet there was something that perplexed him; the box had both English and French inscribed. He, of course was fluent in the two languages but why would there be both those languages—if not English and French why not French and Dutch, his official languages? He decided then it must have been labeled accordingly for the convenience of the troops of the nation that sent it. Netherlands knew well enough that France and Britain wouldn't ever agree long enough to plan something like this in tandem let alone share the credit._

 _Then it struck him. That new young colony of Britain—well it was its own country now but just barely. Netherlands had been around for a very long time so hearing news of the officiating of a new nation in the Americas seemed like only a heartbeat ago. It couldn't have been more than a half a century now could it? What was the nation's name? In his weakened, starved state his mind seemed hazy nowadays. It had been quite the strange name—not one of Latin or Anglo decent. Canada? Ah, yes that was it._ Canada _._

 _Netherlands remembered hearing France grumble about his "_ child _" cursed to share a language with the "_ black sheep of Europe _" one could rightfully assume was Britain. Canada had helped him again—_ yes again _, a voice in the back of his head whispered. This nation had saved him. It was the strangest thing but he didn't even know what he or she_ looked _like._

 _Regardless, he did remember something of France and Britain's feud over Canada. How could he forget? It had been quite a nasty one too even by regular standards. He had no time to pay much attention to it then since he was focusing his own intentions on America. Netherlands hadn't quite seen Francis quite as angry about anything since the death of Joan of Arc as he had been then. All Netherlands knew was that Britain had overthrown the Franco effort and won most of the nation for himself while France's influence only remained in but a portion of the vast land._

 _He suddenly wondered what sort of poor creature could have spawned from the parentage of Britain and France of all nations. God knows America was an example that didn't give Netherlands much hope for this "Canada". As impressively powerful and innovative as he was, America was ambitious in nature and arrogant in his capabilities which were fault enough to possibly be his future undoing. Netherlands idly pondered which "parent" the "US of A's" inherited traits could be blamed on so to speak. Arrogance and ambition seemed to describe both the Anglo-Franco ways quite well._

 _If America had been the explosive result of the pair's unwavering determination the second time, what did an even nastier fight spawn the_ first _time around?_

 _Looking from the care package to the sky, Netherlands wondered; if another wild and bold nation was the sure result of the two nations mingling, why hadn't he heard much about this Canada? If the France and Britain parenting formula was anything to go by, Canada should have been an even larger than life nation than Alfred and_ his _was a pretty tough act to follow. He knew Canada had been given its independence—there was no conflict unlike the bloody war its neighbouring country down south fought to achieve. This Canada had aided his Queen twice so far and now this. It was far from anything he might have expected._

 _In fact, mere decades ago, this new nation had saved his sister. He recalled hearing Belgium praise the nation as highly as he had ever heard from her. She had been rescued by said nation under German occupation in the last war when things seemed bleakest. Belgium claimed Canada showed bravery unlike she had ever seen; relaying that she herself was shocked to see such power in an unknown nation._

 _Although, he figured it was Bella being Bella and understandably gushing over her saviour that rescued her from what seemed like imminent death at the time. She told stories of seeing three armed Germans dropping their weapons in surrender against one armed Canadian soldier by the closing months of the war._

 _To him they seemed like tall tales spun by a shaken up nation's ramblings but he knew Bella was surprisingly put together after the war and not one to readily exaggerate important details. She had relayed other events of her occupation with startling accuracy free of exaggeration or bias before after all._

 _All in all, there was an awful lot of imagining left to be done concerning Canada and by God an unimaginable debt surmounting on his shoulders with each kindness this merciful nation bestowed on him time and time again. He closed his aching eyes and simply breathed for a moment, fighting the rush of relief, despair and gratitude that swelled inside his heart. Willem's jaw ticked at the sudden emotion bubbling up in his chest; quickly pulling himself together he worked on organizing the distribution of supplies to his suffering countrymen._

* * *

Netherlands woke up with a small start and blinked groggily, casting an unfocused glance around the room from where his head rest on his feather pillow. Burying his face into the pillow, he sighed deeply in relief then rolling over onto his back, dug the heels of his palms into his eyes tiredly. It had only been a dream. For one frightful moment, he was afraid he would wake up in 1944 and have to relive the horror of the Hunger Winter again.

He was thankful that it had at least been _that_ memory. It was a…pleasant dream in a way—at least in comparison to the other memory turned dreams of his days spent as Germany's favourite chew toy. Sending a glance at the clock on his bedside table, he read the time; it was 1:17 am. He had woken up well before his alarm.

A week had passed all too quickly and the conference was tomorrow. Time differences and flight time considered he chose to take an evening nap before leaving for his very _early_ flight to New York that would arrive early in the morning. Lord, he hated these conferences. Closing his eyes he sighed once more before heaving himself out of his warm bed in turn for a shower. After bathing and while brushing his teeth, he thought about what might happen at today's conference, not that he expected anything fairly exciting at all. Regardless, America hosting any sort of event, even one as serious as a world conference, was always something to see. At least the refreshments offered might be more edible than Britain's but still a health hazard nonetheless. It would be quite a day, no doubt and the next day would be too.

The thought gave him pause. That's right—he would be visiting Canada by then. He would no doubt see her at the conference bright and early then, too. He caught his own gaze in the mirror, his bright green eyes shone back and him with anticipation then annoyance as he finished up brushing his teeth. He took a deep breath and pushed his hair out of his face, reaching for the hair clay he used to achieve his signature style. He took extra care in the way he styled his hair that day and made double sure that his clothes were fresh and neatly pressed as he changed.

Well, she would be there for certain, perhaps he would speak with her then as he couldn't simply avoid her when he would be seeing her the next day, could he? A vase of colourful tulips in his front room caught his eye as he draped his favourite white and blue scarf over his shoulders before looking back down at his hands, an internal battle raging on in his mind as he slipped on his brown leather gloves. With that he picked up his suitcase and headed out the door but not before snatching a bright red tulip from its vase.

* * *

The flight was as dreadful as any other (he didn't enjoy any experience which kept him glued to his seat for hours; the very reason he hated world conferences) but he had made it to New York City early and was already feeling the effects of jet lag most acutely. Being in New York City was one thing but _commuting_ through New York City was another. After he had checked into his hotel, (one he decided to pay for just for the convenience of a place to store his luggage and wash up and rest in for the day before he caught a flight to Canada) he had to mission to the hall of the World Conference next which was a nightmare. With streets so jam packed with cars bumper to bumper, the air was heavy with exhaust, smog and road rage that blended together into a formula that was uniquely the New York experience and to Netherlands, a ticking time bomb grating on his nerves. The streets were so packed with rush hour traffic, that Netherlands got fed up of going nowhere fast (again, he wasn't a fan of being idle) and bailed out of the taxi in favour of walking the last view blocks to the venue after paying the cabby his fare. He wasn't sure if his plan turned out to be brilliant or a mistake—brilliant because he was finally free to stretch his legs properly for the first time in _hours_ and a mistake because it was simply _scorching_ hot in the Big Apple.

All the carbon emissions, congested streets and tightly packed cityscape which allowed no proper air flow, made the very streets of the city an oven. He tugged his scarf a little loose around his neck as he walked the streets briskly. God almighty, he was not accustomed to this heat nor was he a fan of it. He preferred mild days at best and this simply would not do.

Needless to say he was relieved when he reached his destination much faster than he thought. The venue was much cooler and Netherlands breathed a small contented sigh. Pulling out the tulip he had slipped into his inner coat pocket before the cab ride, he inspected it—almost expecting it to have melted from the heat. He was suddenly very glad that he had utilized a small water vial that he had attached to the stem of the flower. Thankfully, the flower was intact and fresh (he had requested that the flower be cool on his plane after apparently charming a flight attendant by telling her it was a very special flower for someone important; she certainly took this in a much different way than he intended but he didn't correct her since she seemed so moved to helping him out).

While admitted into the building at the coat check, he handed his overcoat to them. With that done, he walked through the elegant halls of the building, brisk in his stride. Spotting a few nations down the hall, he slipped the flower back into his inner breast coat pocket delicately.

Germany, Austria, and Japan were ahead and speaking politely to each other. The three stopped in their greetings when they saw him speeding down the hall. His old trade partner, Japan spotted him, "Look, the Netherlands," he said more to the group than the nation.

The three seemed to eye his muffler oddly, seeming to think it strange he should continue to wear his scarf even on such a hot day as this—knowing most these nations were used to cooler climates as well. "What, do you envy my scarf?" he asked with little bite as he walked on past.

They knew not to expect any less from Netherlands than such a dry remark. He heard the voice of China coming down the hall, going on about western nations being slow to arrive to meetings compared to an old nation like him arriving early. Netherlands scoffed; glad to have already been out of earshot for the rest of China's conceited ramblings as he approached the meeting room.

He didn't know why he was rushing to get to the meeting—he would simply be forced to sit and wait longer this way. He told himself that he simply didn't want to hang around the other nations in the hall to chatter on about political bullshit he wasn't all that interested in. He was a private nation after all so he wasn't very open to a political conversation that might entreat him to reveal the affairs of his country.

He told himself this but he wasn't entirely convinced.

The large hall for the conference was lovely and three entire buffet tables were laid out with food and refreshments that did not look the least bit threatening at all. That was a relief. Even if he hadn't planned on eating, it was good to know that any nation that partook of the hospitality here would _live_ another day—with Arthur's cuisine, the odds were always questionable.

Netherlands was convinced that should Britain ever needed some base formula for a weapon of mass destruction he needn't look further than his personal cookbook.

He was pleased to find that the only other occupants of the room were Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Belgium. He took a seat beside his sister at the edge of the very long clothed table where the nations would sit for the entirety of the morning.

"Good morning," she greeted pleasantly, her cheerful smile turning sardonic as she looked over her shoulder up at him, "nice weather, hm?" she said playfully, knowing full well that he did not enjoy blistering days such as this. He grunted and tugged gently on his scarf, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he sat. The sunlight shone in the room and he purposely sat on the side of Bella cloaked in shadow. He would roast in the sunshine, he knew it and so did she.

"You're early," he remarked instead, gracefully dancing around her trap.

She pouted for a moment before shrugging. "So are you."

He snorted softly and said no more on the topic as he leaned back in his chair, tilting his head back a bit as he closed his eyes. A few moments passed in blissful silence before Bella's concerned voice called to him, "Brother?" she asked, "What's the matter? You look only half awake."

"Jet lag," muttered he in explanation, giving her only the half-truth.

The younger sibling scoffed, no doubt crossing her arms if the whispering of material he heard was any indication. "Didn't you sleep before your flight?" she asked accusingly.

Wondering why today of all days Bella had to be nosy, he cracked open an eye at her and gave her a mild look. Sure enough, her arms were crossed; she leaned on them atop the table as she eyed him suspiciously. A beat passed before he replied, "I did."

"Then?" she pressed.

Closing his eyes again, Netherlands repressed sigh at his sister's concern and said, "I woke up before the alarm so I got up earlier." He figured if he told her that, she'd be satisfied and leave him alone but Bella had her stubborn and nosy moments as a little sister who worried far too much.

"Really?" she asked curiously, "I know you—you don't usually wake before alarms very well. So was it a dream?" she asked, convinced, "What was the dream about?"

This time, Netherlands turned his head fully to face her and rumbled lowly in a stern warning, " _Bella._ " His last ditch effort at intimidation to stop her bombardment of questions worked and Belgium settled back into her chair, pouting to herself without any more questions. She knew just how particular he was about privacy and that had been his last unsaid warning of " _mind your own business_ " before he would lose his patience. He usually only ever used her name when he was completely serious, tired or fed up with her.

"I was just curious, that's all," she pouted, tracing circles onto the table cloth and sounding an awful lot like Francis did whenever he got sulky. Suddenly perking up she asked, "Hey, did you eat yet?"

Folding his arms across his broad chest and resting back in his chair once more he uttered, "Not hungry" while Belgium nodded thoughtfully and inspected the buffet table from a distance. "I just got in a couple minutes before you did," after a pause she whispered to him conspiratorially, "Do you think it's safe?" she gestured vaguely to the refreshments with the tilt of her head.

Netherlands sent her a sidelong glance and asked, "Are we in Britain?"

Confused, she answered, "No?"

"Then it is safe" he concluded for her without missing a beat.

"Touché," she murmured as she eyed the table for a few moments longer, internally debating on whether she should grab refreshments while the table was full. She decided quickly when she saw Liechtenstein and her brother helping themselves to tea, biscuits and finger sandwiches that looked appetizing. Nodding decidedly to herself briefly she murmured, "I'll be back" and skipped off to the buffet table.

Netherlands simply shook his head to himself and closed his eyes once more but his peace didn't last long when he heard murmuring from the group of nations he had passed in the hall along with the additional voices of America, Britain and France enter the room. The latter two, of course, were bickering about some nonsensical crap as always while America announced he was starving and no doubt was headed to the buffet table.

Willem cracked an eye open to check if his assumption was right when he saw the gluttonous nation already filling his plate beside Belgium who was pointedly ignoring any conversation he attempted to start with her. America, more vigilant than he let on, caught her snub with confusion at first before a look of understanding passed his face and Netherlands could hear him ask wryly, "Still mad about that waffle thing, huh?"

Belgium on the other hand, flushed with anger (and no doubt embarrassment from being asked such a straight forward question) huffed, turned on her heel and stalked to the end of the table farthest away with him to start an impromptu conversation with France in her native tongue. France seemed surprised at first but glancing back at the American grinning behind Belgium from his spot by the refreshments, Francis heaved a sigh and pretended not to be amused as Belgium ripped on Alfred in French.

Even Netherlands could hear what she was saying from across the room, catching the words "pompous" and "tasteless" in her rant about America. She was loud enough that any French speaker in the room could very clearly catch what she was saying if Seychelles walking through the door and fighting giggles was any indication. Though the country being slandered didn't show any sign of understanding, it was obvious he was being badmouthed. He shrugged but made a point of purposefully sliding between the two nations to reach for a can of coke. Netherlands could see Alfred's lips moving in what could only be a whisper to Belgium before he took his drink and stalked off. Whatever he had said made Belgium's jaw drop and to his credit made even France's eyes widen in surprise. The two gawked at the American who strolled away as cheerful as ever, cracking open the tab of his coke can with one hand then taking a swig.

Netherlands didn't have time to ponder what in the world America could have possibly said to elicit such a reaction from the two French speaking nations when he saw a certain blonde nation walk into the room. Willem straightened immediately upon seeing Madeline step in. She paused by the buffet table and snagged a bottle of spring water before ambling over to the conference table, securing a seat on the far end. Netherlands was already up and on the move by the time she lay her things down at the table. She had paused briefly to slip off the jacket of her pantsuit and draped it over the back of her chair; clad in her white blouse and her suit vest.

He noticed with amusement the removal of layers as well as her choice of water as a beverage during such an early meeting was strange behaviour from her. She was much more the type to be dressed fully in the proper attire than without a blazer even during the longest meetings. But the pink blush on her cheeks told him that like he himself, she was affected by the sweltering heat of the day.

Holland had something in common with Canada. He liked the thought.

He gained her attention by clearing his throat softly. She turned immediately at the sound and was surprised to find him standing straight and tall behind her with his hands folded neatly behind his back. Normally, she would have turned around to see if he was possibly talking to someone else but she fought the urge, knowing that Netherlands only ever came to talk to her when she found him standing before her. His gaze on her was relaxed but focused and he allowed himself to be amused at her surprised expression; finding her shock at ever being spoken to quite endearing.

"Netherlands," she breathed, still taken aback.

The young man bowed his head graciously, his old mannerisms from years beyond her time showing his true age. "Miss Madeline."

Her surprise faded quickly into pleasure as she smiled warmly up at the tall nation, "Good morning," she greeted politely, "It's been a while." However, her smile faltered ever so briefly as she gazed upon his face. "Are you alright? You seem tired. Have you been sleeping well?"

A small half smile tugged at the corner of his lips at the gentle concern in her voice, it was there and gone in an instant though the warmth of his smile remained in his eyes, "Jet lag, I'm afraid" he said simply.

He knew that Madeline had a habit of worrying over his health—this came as no surprise considered what he looked like when she first found him; what an awful condition he had been in then! He believed she had an irrational fear that one day he would simply revert back to the state he had been in during the Hunger Winter—nothing but skin and bone; she had said so herself before in not so many words. Not giving her a chance to worry any further, he pulled out a single red-golden tulip and presented it to her.

She gaped in astonishment at the bloom he offered between his leather gloved fingers and Netherlands noted with great pleasure how the colour in her cheeks darkened at the gesture. She was quite adorably befuddled as she looked up at him unsure while he nodded and gestured for her to take it by gently waving the flower towards her. His meaning was clear; _go on_ , his expression seemed to say and that was all Madeline needed to reach out and pluck the bloom from his grasp. Her fingertips gently brushed his as she accepted his gift and Netherlands suddenly found himself wishing that for once he hadn't worn his leather gloves if only to feel her soft skin on his for a moment. The thought was unwarranted in his mind but he couldn't dwell on it for long, not while she standing there in front of him, smiling shyly and so well pleased with his present.

Now that, he thought, would never get old to him. She always had the same wonderful expression of gratitude and bashful modesty every time he gifted her with one of his prized tulips. There had been many times over the decades he thought such a modern nation such as her would tire at the simplicity of flowers as a gift but each time she seemed just as delighted as the first time he had gifted her with 100,000 tulip bulbs for her home after the war had ended. It pleased him endlessly.

Even if tulips weren't particularly perfumed, Canada loved the faint fragrance they had—to her they smelt fresh and green; like springtime. She loved its simplicity. Tulips were pretty but not overly extravagant; little did she know that Netherlands loved them for the same reasons as she did. Madeline delicately inhaled the tulip's refreshing scent with enjoyment then looked up at Willem questioningly, "Not that I don't love a surprise but to what do I owe the pleasure? Correct me if I'm wrong but May 5th _is_ _tomorrow_ isn't it?" asked she politely with an air that might have been playfulness hidden behind curiosity.

He shook his head, "No correction needed," he said, "You are right."

She blinked in surprise, raising a brow, "Um, then why...?" she left the sentence hang before Netherlands shrugged simply, folding his hands behind his back once more. "There's nothing wrong with an early present," Holland said casually.

Madeline smiled softly, gently caressing the soft petals of the tulip, adoring its vibrant scarlet colour and tips of a soft golden hue. She admired her gift a moment longer before looking up once more at the nation, smiling in gratitude. "Thank you, Willem" she said softly.

Netherlands thrilled at hearing his name on her lips. Canada often needed his reminding that she may call him by his given name. He couldn't blame her as she was a shy girl and it was rather intimate to do, nation to nation. He himself tended to call her "Miss Canada" or "Miss Madeline" or even on occasion, "Miss Williams" so the rare event of her calling him by name was something worth waiting for indeed. He was perhaps too contented in hearing it, for he didn't realize that a warm smile stretched across his lips.

She seemed to realize something and out of polite conversation asked, "So, have you settled in a hotel yet?"

He was about to answer that he had but he was rather hoping to catch a flight to Canada to spend the night there instead and he wondered if she had any hotel recommendations in Ottawa, when the doors to the hall had been closed, signaling that the conference was about to begin.

Nations had begun shuffling to their seats and Netherlands spotted his sister, noticing she had been saving his seat. So, he turned back to Canada and said, "Maybe later," he murmured, fully intent on finishing their conversation after the conference. Excusing himself, he promptly headed back to his sister, taking a seat beside her. Both countries were feeling irritated—Willem irritated that his conversation with Canada had been interrupted and Bella irritated that her conversation with Alfred _hadn't_ been.

The two remained silent side by side—Belgium not mentioning his gift to Canada and Netherlands not asking her about what America had mumbled to her. The conference kicked off as usual and there were no thoughts or feelings shared between the two during the whole meeting but the two siblings dearly wanted the conference to end but for much different reasons—Belgium wanted to simply go home and get as far away from America while _in_ America and Netherlands simply wanted to finish his premature conversation with Canada.

It was quite a sight, to see the normally bright and chipper Belgium looking so impatient and unapproachable. Beside her, Netherlands, on the other hand who had always looked impatient and unapproachable must have looked down right cantankerous. Although turned out to be true and Netherlands _did_ look particularly ill-favoured at present, his features did soften a touch when he saw Canada, still clutching her gifted bloom in her hands. Her soft violet eyes for once not fixed onto the nations speaking but instead seemed glassy and unfocused as if in deep thought as she delicately stroked the tulip's petals with her fingertips.

* * *

"That concludes today's conference," sighed Germany, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back; his tone tired running on annoyed. It always seemed like whenever America held a conference, everybody suddenly felt like being extra difficult, chatty or stubbornly disagreeable (perhaps there was just too much sugar in the room). Ludwig had to call the meeting to order several times. Once when Belarus terrified Estonia for muttering a pointed remark about her (creepily) beloved brother, Russia when "human trafficking" and "slave labour" was brought up, once when Vietnam formally presented herself to the room and was ready to speak up on her issue of "stateless persons" in her land when Alfred had suddenly belted out, " _GOOD MOOOOORNING, VIETNAM_!" and once more when Britain and France started arguing over God knows what anymore.

Ludwig had the great burden of being one of the only _sane_ people in a house full of crazies so to speak. The stress and frustration radiated off of him in palpable waves of discontent. Netherlands almost took pity on Germany—almost. Netherlands amused himself with the thought that this was one of his many punishments for his past misgivings and that karma was indeed a _bitch_.

Belgium was already up and out of her seat, readying herself to be on her merry way, "Ready to leave?" she asked her brother impatiently. Netherlands had stood as well, thankful that the conference had, for the most part, come to a successful close. Looking back at his sister with a significant look that was less questioning and more curious, he replied, "I have a question for Canada."

Almost instantly, Bella's demeanor brightened, "Oh," she said cheerfully, smiling a sunny grin. "I'll join you!" Netherlands, although a little more than suspicious about his sister's 180 in terms of mood, simply grunted in response but Bella faltered upon seeing Alfred was way too close in the vicinity of Canada for her to tread comfortably. Her expression fell immediately into one of distant annoyance. Netherlands noticed this and sent her a questioning look as she said, "Uh, actually. I just remembered I have some stuff to do back home and I should go as soon as possible,"she muttered, "Tell Canada I said hello!" without giving Holland a chance to respond, she zipped right on out of the room. Netherlands simply shook his head and stuff his hands into his pockets as he approached Canada who was gathering her things as carefully as she always did.

He wasn't all that surprised by Belgium's favourable reactions towards Canada only moments ago—she adored the nation. After Canada rescued her in the Great War and aided her in the next one, the two had remained on good terms and pleasant companions. Willem knew that every Canadian was welcomed with open arms in his sister's country—as well as his.

He slowed in his fast approach when he saw Canada answer a call on her cell phone—one that seemed unfavourable to her. She sighed and muttered back to the speaker, clearly agreeing to something before she hung up. It was then that she noticed Netherlands standing aside patiently. Had he been waiting for her to end her call? She flushed with guilt and embarrassment and mumbled a little awkwardly, "Hi."

He gave her a half smile then gestured to the phone in her hand, "Is something the matter?"

Canada sighed, "No, nothing is wrong per se."

A pause.

"A bad time then, perhaps?" asked Willem, sensing her impatience and that she was indeed pressed for time about something.

She nodded, "I have to get back to Ottawa. They want to go over some last minute details about tomorrow's ceremony surrounding the statue's unveiling, you know?" She rearranged her glasses, tugging at the frames as if they irritated her.

Netherlands nodded in understanding. To commemorate 70 years of friendship between both nations a statue of Queen Juliana and her then infant child, Princess Margriet born in Ottawa during the Royal exile was to be revealed. It was a pretty big deal so he understood that the nation hosting the event would have much to do in terms of planning—even up to the last day before said event apparently.

It was then that Willem noticed just how tired Canada looked. He had been so thrilled at the prospect of seeing her that he was blinded to her well being. He frowned at his ignorance but said to the nation, "I see. Then you should waste no time in heading home."

She nodded; pushing a stray lock of wayward hair that had escaped the low bun she always styled her hair in for conferences back behind her ear. "Yeah…" she paused looking oddly disappointed but looked at the ground for a moment, her mouth opening then closing as if she was struggling on whether or not to say something. He let her struggle for a moment longer before he decided to save her from her suffering since she wasn't about to say much more.

"Well, then I'll see you at the ceremony tomorrow then," he said politely, ignoring the aggravation he felt welling up inside him—of all times for her to be called away on urgent duties…

Madeline nodded and wrung her hands awkwardly, eyes still on the floor. She was retreating into herself and it showed _—_ her self-consciousness was palpable. "Well, um…goodbye," she murmured as she tugged her bag over her shoulder and shuffled towards the door with her head down and her blazer draped over her arm.

Netherlands watched after her, and repressed a sigh. Turning his gaze to the carpet, he felt an acute disappointment fill him and he couldn't quite fathom why. Meanwhile, Canada was screaming at herself in her head, telling herself to stop, to wait, to say something _more_ for Christ's sake! _Maple leaf!_ She hated herself for being so afraid these days. She was stronger before—so much stronger so why couldn't she simply talk? _C'mon, Canada! Speak up!_ she scolded herself.

Madeline paused just before the threshold of the door.

Netherlands hadn't noticed on account of his eyes still glued to the cream coloured carpet of the long since emptied hall but perked up at the sound of his name.

"N-Netherlands?"

He turned to see her back faced to him, her shoulders tense as her unsure voice once again broke the silence, "I look forward to seeing you tomorrow."

This time, Netherlands didn't fight the smile that pulled at his lips and he nodded even though she couldn't see and murmured calmly, "As do I."

Her slender frame seemed to relax a moment at his reply before she abruptly turned the corner and hurried out of the room, head down.

Netherlands still felt a twinge of disappointment at Canada's early departure yet oddly was satisfied with what the day had brought. He chuckled to himself in the empty room. All in all, this World Conference wasn't so bad.

* * *

Canada slowed her jog to a brisk walk as she already approaching the front halls of the building. Her brisk gait turned to a casual walk then stopped completely. Leaning against a wall cloaked in shadows in the darkened corners of the polished hallway, she brought a hand over her mouth as if it would quell the dark blush that washed over her cheeks. She was completely red, she knew. Her cheeks were hot as she pressed the back of her shaky palms to them in an attempt to cool them.

 _Great Wayne Gretzky!_ She had actually spoken up! Sheer elation washed over her. It had been so long since she had been so bold to say something like that…

 _Something like_ _that..._

And just like that the doubt and embarrassment was back. Oh, God, what had she _said_?! Perhaps what she said was a bit too forward. Was it a strange thing to say? Well, she _was_ looking forward to seeing him at the celebration tomorrow. She always did look forward to his annual visits. Once a year, he came and visited her for _70 years_. It was the most consistent anyone had ever been with her in her entire being!

She gnawed at her lip deciding she was glad she had spoken up but also felt undeniably saddened. She hadn't felt so relieved in years about speaking but that was just it—it had been years. Probably 70 years if she was being critical. In truth, Madeline had felt a loss of purpose once the wars had ended. She didn't like to fight but there she felt stronger, surer of her capabilities. She had a purpose then—she felt like a _nation_ then. Deep down she wasn't this silent and invisible person, that's not who she was but other the years she felt herself grow a little more forlorn, a little lonelier, a little more pathetic and a little more hopeless.

She looked down at her hands and it was as if she could see right through herself.

Canada quickly clenched her fists and closed her eyes, trying to convince herself that she _was_ real and that she mattered. She never did a very good job at this though. She felt pathetic but the colourful bloom in her hand seemed to bring her back to herself. She stared at the bittersweet reminder of the days when she was actually useful, when people had begun to notice her...

Sighing, she peeled herself off the wall and continued her trek down the halls and finally reached the building's coat check. She read the coat-handler's name tag. Rick. He didn't seem to notice her. It took her three tries for her to grab the attendee's attention even if she stood before him and called to him by name. She felt her mind cloud over once more before she sighed and managed to slip by and retrieve her coat herself before leaving the venue. She clenched her numbed fist tightly, feeling considerably more pitiful than she did walking in it this morning.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **Poor Canada. I'll let you in on a secret and tell you that the original point of this story was simply delving into Canada's psyche and although romance has become the headliner for this story, it rides shotgun to it's true purpose of revealing Canada's past; Canada's story will not take a back seat to love in this fanfiction.**

 **That being said, there will DEFINITELY be a lot of focus on Netherlands' feelings for Canada then on Canada's unconscious mind and eventually how she feels about her dearly indebted friend.**

 **Because they are so cute and I love them and I love romance and fluff for all!**

(Let me know if you want to know what Alfred whispered to Bella-I might consider adding it into the plot)

ALSO, the next chapter will be all about Netherlands' and Canada's first encounter. Please look forward to it!

 **Please R &R if you can! Thank you!**


	4. Inviolability

**Author's Note: Hello! I'm back with a new chapter!**

 **Though, I think I might change Madeline's name to the spelling closer to French;Madeleine. It's nothing huge but it has a significance of it's own.**

 **Please show your support by leaving a review!**

 **And really quick, 101stellastella, you asked me a question and I couldn't respond due to your privacy settings!**

 **However, I've decided to eventually reveal what Alfred whispered to Belgium in future chapters!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I am not Hidekazu Himaruya therefore, I do not own Hetalia!**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 ** _"If nothing saves us from death, at least love should save us from life"_**

 ** _-Pablo Neruda_**

* * *

 _Everything seemed blurry to him. His world veiled in a thick screen of ash and smoke. He was dying—he felt sure of it now. He couldn't muster up enough strength to ward off Prussia's vice-like grip. In his mind, he was too far gone to even try._ _But there was a second assailant, one he couldn't see but could feel with a keen awareness; it was the ice cold hands of Death that reached out for him, steadily closing in on Willem. There was no escaping the reaper's grasp it seemed._

 _Everything had reached a pinnacle now and it was time for the final curtain._

 _Netherlands was everywhere and nowhere—he could feel the farthest corners of his lands, he could feel each shell that rocked the earth, every blast that weakened him to the brink of paralysis. He could see flashes behind his eyes of his shores, the bloody water of the shallows staining the sand of the coastline. Canon fire, death, fallen soldiers—man slaughtering man. In his mind's eye, he could see it all; the final chapters of his life unfolding._ _His story was about to come to an abrupt and bloody end, of this Netherlands was absolutely certain._

 _"Get up!" Prussia hissed, for once serious about something as he dragged the limp nation along behind him. "C'mon, you Dutch bastard!" he groaned, utilizing his power in a rare show of brute strength as he plucked Netherlands out of the dirt and actually tossed him forward a yard, "Move it!"_ _Netherlands hit the ground hard, shakily pushing his torso off the ground with his arms before faltering before the last of his strength diminished and his arms gave out. "Oh, come on now!_ Move your ass! _" Gilbert barked uncharacteristically, for once sounding like his younger brother, kicking the already beaten nation once in the side for good measure. Netherlands coughed up blood as Prussia took out his frustration on him with a kick to the jaw. Willem lay speechless in pain on his back while Gilbert loomed over him._

 _When he saw Netherlands was going nowhere fast however, the albino nation clicked his tongue in distaste and huffed in exasperation; a look of annoyance settling on his sharp features._

 _"Verdammt…" he muttered under his breath. He nudged the Dutchman once more with his foot, this time a less vicious spurring in his already injured ribs. It was as if he was checking to see if he was alive or not._ _The red eyed nation stared down at Netherlands with distaste but sighed, crouching down before grabbing a handful of the nation's hair and forcing Netherlands to face to him._ _Through an eye swelling shut, Netherlands' half-conscious mind recognized how positively terrifying Prussia was. In Willem's darkened vision and through the wisps of smoke and ash from the city under siege, Gilbert's milky red eyes seemed to glow demonically in the fading daylight. He looked so much like Ludwig now, with a grim expression of death about his features. No, that wasn't right—it was equally as horrifying to remember that Prussia was the older brother and that Germany had once learned his trait, all that he knew, from the nation who tugged harshly on his hair._

 _"You're not going to be useful right now, are you?" he murmured. Gone was his usual mocking and screechy tenor, now was replaced with a quiet baritone. His voice was heavy and deep with the weight of his predicament. Germany had gone to fight off the allied advances arriving on Netherlands' beaches and Rotterdam had been left in Prussia's charge while Austria was posted in the east in Berlin._ _Netherlands had often shook his head at the constant teasing and mocking nature of the Prussian but now, listening to his menacing timber of a voice, he found that he quite missed the jackass version of the albino nation that wasn't q_ _uite so inclined to kill him. "_ Move…Holländer. _"he rumbled before harshly yanking the tall nation to his feet in one swift motion._

 _Prussia was worse for wear; ashes and blood stained his uniform. He had a large gash on his forehead and looked even paler than usual as he too was greatly weakened these last few months of the war. German battlefronts were failing as the Allies claimed more victories. His forces were overrun on the dykes in the marshes and rivers beyond the city and there were brief communications that the battles on the beach weren't in the Germans' favour. Prussia's impatience had spawned from his weakened state and the knowledge that he was running out of time._ _Netherlands didn't know what Prussia had planned but one thing was for sure—he sure as_ hell _didn't want Netherlands out in the open. Gilbert wanted him good and secured in a German stronghold but Willem's weakened state refused to let the albino have his way. Prussia clearly didn't like that._ _Willem did try to pick himself up if only for his pride but staggered and fell forward to the ground again and again._

 _"_ 'And then, he fell a third time…' _" Prussia mocked in a dramatic boom with theatrical gusto and flair. His voice strained a moment as he bent down to grab Netherlands by the back of his coat only to fling him forward again, "_ Christ _, what a cross you have to bare, Holländer!" he said with humour, his own dark biblical reference clearly tickling his strange sense of humour as he chuckled to himself. The Netherlands faltered once more and although Prussia did not comment on it this time he clearly gave up on any prospect of the beaten nation moving on his own and instead dragged Holland with ease across the cobblestone streets on the edge of Rotterdam._ _Prussia proceeded to haul the half-dead nation along behind him, gun clutched tightly in his free hand. He scanned the area halfheartedly as he walked, cautious for any oncoming challengers of opposition. He muttered unintelligible curses under his breath as he stalked down the empty streets._

 _Netherlands' entire body was on fire, burning in agonies too horrible to describe. Apart from the physical beating he received from Nazi soldiers (and the nation who dragged him about at present) for refusing to comply even in his weakened state (on top of his famine) he could feel his land being torn apart by the war; strangely, this pain was lessening as time passed by. In his pain delirious mind he reasoned that it must have been his life force slipping away, numbing him to the afflictions on his lands a distance away. It was an odd relief in his pain laden mind; not feeling anything right now seemed too sweet a blessing to be true._

 _The sounds of gunfire in the city grew with sounds of struggle, shouts and death. It was a warzone back there and it was only getting worse. The muffled noises of death and ruin drifted over the rooftops and showed no signs of relenting. Prussia shot down any enemy soldiers that came his way or dared to follow with such a practiced air that was truly unsettling._

 _Then he suddenly halted in his gait, stiffening slightly as he turned. Netherlands was for the most part aware of his capture's abrupt change in countenance and looked up at the country whose dark red eyes seemed to be scanning a solitary corner of the city with dangerous intent. Netherlands followed the nation's gaze wherever it went when, out the corner of his eye, he saw moment—a blur of brown flashing across the way._

 _Apparently Gilbert saw it to; he dropped Netherlands onto the ground and spun, firing off a few shots at where the figure had been, just barely missing his target but astonishingly the Prussian's firing stopped short as he let out a hiss of pain. Holland looked up from the ground just about seeing double as Prussia pulled a hand away from his left shoulder. His black gloved hand was slick with blood. He had been shot! Prussia's red eyes flickered up from his hand now held in a fist with his head still low resembling a predator scanning the area for prey, "_ Come out, come out, wherever you are! _" Prussia sang with eerie softness in thickly accented English._

 _Silence._

 _Willem, although half out of his wits from the pain that wracked his body, was confused by this. Who on earth was he talking to? Had the man gone truly mad once and for all? There was nothing here but crumbling apartments and abandoned alleyways...that and perhaps whatever that blur had been._ _"I know you're there—I can_ feel _you from over here." Prussia continued, "Why don't you come out so we can play properly, hm?"he suggested easily. Although his voice had taken on its usual mocking tone once more there was an underlying danger in it that refused to be trifled with._ _Just as Netherlands thought that Prussia_ _had gone well and truly mad a voice rang out from somewhere near the crumbling buildings across from Prussia, "No thanks, I don't like games," the voice called out, "But I'll accept the Netherlands and your surrender."_

 _Both were surprised by the soldier's voice; a little high for a young man's._

 _Prussia had already pulled Willem up and locked an arm around his throat, using him as a human shield by then. It was then that the two men glimpsed a brown uniformed figure step out of the shadows, firearm aimed and ready to fire off a shot at the Germanic nation._ _"You're a nation…" Prussia murmured, his eyes narrowed for a moment before he grinned, "I can feel_ _that, too."_

 _The blonde soldier kept the distance but never lowered her weapon, "I am," the soldier said wryly, slowly inching forward finally stepping out into the open._ _The young nation was a woman if not just barely—her physical age looked to be about sixteen or perhaps eighteen at most. Her eyes however, held the look of age about them—someone who had lived long enough to witness awful things. Netherlands imagined she might look innocent on any normal day but there was no softness to be found in her amethyst eyes, sharp as a hawk were locked on the nation that held him captive—ready to shoot, and prepared to kill._

 _"Ah! and a_ woman _no less!" Prussia cackled in amusement, obviously pleased by the surprising turn of events. "How fun! I do like strong women but little girls with guns just don't cut it. No offense." he added coolly, roughly cajoling the nation he held captive in his arms when Willem began to falter with fatigue._

 _"None taken—as it were I prefer my men_ sane _," she said mock-ruefully, "So you see, we'd never work out, I'm afraid."_

 _Prussia's eyes were hard but his feral grin stretched ever wider while Netherlands stared at the female nation before him, his mind blurry and slow. The albino humoured her for a moment when his brow raised (though keeping his gun concealed behind Netherlands' back) and he sounded surprisingly genuine as he said, "Not to be rude," he continued conversationally with a half a moment's pause, "but who the hell are you?" he asked, his tone idle._

 _Netherlands felt himself sagging from exhaustion and agony but Prussia roughly forced him upright, jamming his gun deeper into the nation's back. It was becoming harder for the Dutch nation to hold onto his consciousness._

 _After a brief pause the mystery nation saw it fit to speak. Still ready to fire, the nation never faltered in her stance. "I'm Canada," she said loud and clear, having no trouble in projecting her voice across the gap between them. Prussia nodded to himself as if a guess had been confirmed when after a moment she added, "And I'll be forced to harm you if you won't let the nation go." she said, briefly gesturing to the hostage Netherlands with a vague nod of her head in his direction._

 _Netherlands' eyes widened at the reveal of her name—Canada, it was_ Canada _! His body and mind so weak felt a surge of alertness at the discovery. Canada_ _was_ here _._

 _She was here in Rotterdam—after all she had done for him she was here to fight his battles too. Yet at the moment in his half-gone mind he wanted to laugh upon realizing that in this little tale of war_ he _was the damsel in distress and she his knight in shining armour. At this point he wasn't all that surprised. In the last four years his world had flipped completely upside down so nothing really shocked him at this point._ _Holland's own "Prince Charming" as it were wore a mask of cool detachment, poised and ready to kill if need be._

 _"Surrender Rotterdam and Holland to me nice and easy and I won't have to put a bullet through your head. Your choice—I just don't want to make a mess," Canada remarked sardonically even though her threat stood._

 _Prussia seemed to shrug, a mirthful smile on his face as he retorted, "Well, I_ do _need what little brain I have" he said playfully, "But you see, I kinda promised my little bro I'd look after his toys" he paused to give said "_ toy _" in his arms a painful jostle mid speech, "while he was off killing…" he trailed off with an inappropriately light air to his tone. Frankly, it was unsettling to say the least. "_ Not much closer! _" Prussia raised his voice as Canada began to advance, wrapping an arm tighter around Holland's neck and bracing the side of his jaw, "if you_ please _…unless you'd rather see_ scarfie _over here with a broken neck."_

 _Canada halted and did not make a move to get closer again but applied a small amount of pressure to the trigger of her gun to show the Prussian that she was perfectly happy to open fire, "I already_ _dealt with your little brother—last time I saw him he wasn't looking too hot and I'm on clean up duty. Looks like we both got stuck with the crappy jobs." The corners of her lips twitched up into a mirthful smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "This is your last chance," she warned._

A _flicker had passed through Prussia's eyes at the mention his brother though he held onto his smile. Said smile seemed to grow more dangerous as the seconds ticked by. Prussia then looked at the beaten and broken nation he held at gunpoint. Netherlands mustered up just enough strength to glare at the pale nation whose red eyes looked over him thoughtfully for a moment before coming to a decision. After a brief pause, "Do I have your word?" he asked in a flat tone of voice that betrayed no emotion._

 _"On my honour as a nation—if you hand him over and surrender now, no harm will come to you," she answered calmly, eyes trained on the albino attentively._

 _A beat passed before Prussia nodded briefly and locked Netherlands' arm around his back, slowly walking him towards the Canadian who raised her firearm as a precaution but readied herself to receive the wounded nation._

 _Netherlands felt the swell of hope, dread and anticipation churn in his stomach. The air was tense as Prussia began to extend his newest bargaining chip closer to the Canadian but gave Netherlands a start as he suddenly leaned in and whispered in German (a language Netherlands understood very well), "Maybe your dead-weight_ _will be useful after all"._ _Before Netherlands could comprehend the fair haired man's words he felt the barrel of Prussia's gun recoil from his back before he was suddenly shoved towards Canada. The world seemed to slow for Netherlands as he fell towards the blonde; a cold shiver running up his spine when he understood the Prussian's words as he tripped onto the female nation who made the dire mistake of automatically surging trying to catch him as he feel on top of her. His practical dead-weight thrusted towards her was too much and the two fell. She fucked up and all three of them knew it._

 _"_ NO! _" Netherlands managed to yell in warning but it was too late._

 _The harshness of Prussia's shove, the weakness of the Netherlands coupled with Canada's instinctual urge to reach out and grab the falling nation served Prussia well. He swiftly kicked the gun straight out of her hand and Netherlands had barely landed on top of her when with the speed of a cobra Prussia yanked back by the scarf, half choking him in the process only to toss him roughly aside. Within a split second, he kicked Canada down who had attempted to sit herself up and stomped on her chest before she could move._ _Netherlands landed in a painful heap to the side and watched as Canada yelped in pain from beneath the Germanic nation's boot; grinding into her chest. As she began to struggle, he used his weight to press down harder on her chest; pinning her in place and stealing her breath simultaneously._

 _Gilbert sighed and draped his forearm on his thigh—his one leg kicked up on her in the universal pose of a conqueror—gun dangling idly in his hand. "Sorry, birdie," he murmured unsympathetically, "I'm not about to surrender to a newbie like you, Miss Cana-_ whoever-the-hell-you-are. _I never go down without a good fight and frankly, I'm disappointed," he drawled, "I thought you'd be much more_ fun _by the way you were talking so high and mighty. How unawesome of you" he shook his head in displeasure then cast a glance over to Netherlands, idly gesturing at him with his gun, "You're as pathetic as_ him! _"_

 _While had been blabbering on, Prussia didn't notice that Canada was already slowly bringing her knees to her up, closer to her torso. Netherlands watched from the ground and kept his face neutral should he accidentally give Canada away by his expression. For as soon as Gilbert turned his attention away from her she grabbed a hold of his foot on her chest with both hands and twisted roughly, simultaneously kicking a leg at the back of his knee. The result was a pained yell from the Germanic man who tumbled over, knees buckling. While he fell onto his back Madeline was quick in climbing over him; reaching for the gun which fell from his hand as he smacked off the stone street but Gilbert was faster. Tightening his grip on the gun, he aimed up at her but she had luckily elbowed his arm away just as he squeezed off a shot. Though it had missed her head, it grazed her left shoulder and she let out a cry of pain but she pressed on and slammed his fist onto the ground, cajoling the gun out of it once more._

 _Netherlands watched in horror as the gun skid to the side as the two nations had at each other, tearing viciously at one another. He gritted his teeth and tried to push myself to at least sit up but he failed, he was so drained. Canada was still over him when her cap had fallen off and a tumble of blonde curls dangled in front of her face. Prussia wasted no time in grabbing a fistful of her waves and pulled back harshly, dragging her over him. He laid her across him on her back as he tried to get her in a head lock, "An eye for an eye!" he mocked as he pressed down on her wounded shoulder earning a groan of pain from her as she attempted to struggle free from his hold but as Gilbert floundered to catch her arm, she swung her elbow back and jarred him in the gut._

 _She twisted his other arm back next and rolled off him once more diving for her gun though Gilbert, newly pissed off, mirrored her actions and smacked the gun clear out of her hand. Madeline managed to roll back onto her haunches as Gilbert sat up. They both looked at the nearest gun, two yards away in the other direction, then back at each other and bolted for it. Though Gilbert's plan was to grab the gun, Canada had another approach and utilizing her years spent playing hockey, side-checked him flat onto his ass._ _Both Netherlands and Prussia were surprised by her bold attack. In fact, Netherlands on would have laughed if he wasn't half dead and struggling to hold onto consciousness._

 _Prussia took the opportunity to gain the upper hand so while she took off to run for the gun he snagged her ankle from his spot on the ground. She tripped forward but caught herself, kneeling on one leg while he held the other in place with a crushing grip as he smirked, "_ Not so fast! _" he said in a sing song as he began to drag her back but Canada had struck out with her leg, kicking him straight in the nose, "You're too_ slow! _" she replied in the same fight-laboured sing-song._

 _Prussia stood as she did; Canada panting while Gilbert stood clutching at his presumably broken nose momentarily before he swung out at her, a punch which she dodged. She stepped back, light on her feet as the two began a deadly dance of ferocity. Netherlands gaped, captivated in watching the two nations fight (since his broken body could literally do nothing but keep him glued to his spot). Canada was so like and unlike what he imagined—a female, he hadn't known but she was strong. Her determined eyes of violet burned like amethyst flames as she struck out against the near ancient nation who struck back; her blonde locks bouncing around her as she ran, as she ducked, as she moved with impressive speed. At first she had taken a few brutal hits to the face if only so she could predict Gilbert's moves. Remarkably, she kept on pushing with a tenacity Prussia struggled to keep up with._

 _It was like watching an eagle fighting a bear (though a bear seemed too burly and lacked the grace she had, perhaps more like a wolf or an arctic fox); the way Prussia would swoop in and attack her so swiftly while Canada remained grounded and solid but ever so ferocious._

 _She fought like a regular warrior, blocking punches and deflecting kicks. Her left side was at a disadvantage from the bullet wound and Gilbert used this to his full advantage, purposely aiming for the left side of her jaw she couldn't defend as well. Yet, the door swung both ways in this instance as Madeline saw that Gilbert favoured his right side do to the twin wound she inflicted in_ his _left shoulder. So she attacked his left; catching him off guard with a kick to the ribs. When she tried the move again however, Gilbert caught her leg and twisted, shoving her to the floor. Through yelling in pain, Canada grit her teeth and kicked out his legs from under him; watching with satisfaction as his legs flew up in the air while he crashed to the ground._

 _Prussia cursed aloud in German and Canada turned, ready to spring to her feet again but not before Prussia grabbed her waist in one hand with a switchblade in the other. Netherlands cried to crawl, to pull himself together but failed pitifully, groaning at the sharp pain as he attempted to move his arm—most likely broken or sprained. His breath caught in his throat as he watched Prussia press the deadly looking blade to the side of her throat_ _—_ _one he had no doubt hidden in his boot or jacket. The two nations kneeled in front of each other, Canada struggling to lean away from the blade while Gilbert's hand on her back allowed no such thing; instead pressing her closer to the blade._ _The two breathed heavily, eyes wild and angry but Canada pulled on a mask of composure, slowly raising her hands in a placating gesture while Prussia let out a breathless and taunting chuckle. "Oh, what are you going to do now, birdie?"_

 _She showed him._

 _Striking out as quick as a snake, she simultaneously punched him straight in the throat while grabbing the hand that clutched the knife, pulling it aside and twisting him arm, forcing him to drop it (accidentally slicing herself from collarbone to shoulder in the process). Coughing and reeling from her assault, she tore away from the temporarily stunned Prussia. She made her time useful while he recovered. Gilbert reached out and grabbed the knife off the ground only for her booted foot to crush his wrist. Prussia groaned but halted when he heard a metallic click beside his temple and looked up to see Madeline with her gun at hand aimed and ready._

 _Panting harshly, she stood over him; blood trailing down her nose and from a gash in her hairline. Her expression was deadly and didn't even need to utter a word to flaunt her menace in that moment. Lightning quick, Canada suddenly struck Prussia upside the head with the butt of her gun and stepped on his throat when he fell back. Netherlands almost missed the movement, she was so fast. It was clear by her expression that she was not about to let him get the jump on her again. Anger shone behind her striking and narrowed amethyst eyes, burning with rage at the destruction the Germanic nations had reaped upon the world twice in a few decades. Moments passed where the two brawling nations stared at each other—their positions from when the battle began now flipped._

 _The sound of foot falls sounded around the corner and though Prussia turned to look, Canada did not. Gilbert recognized the soldiers that approached wore the same uniform as her—distinctly Canadian, and gave her a look as if to say,_ "well played" _._

 _"Surrender" she said quietly though it wasn't a question; her voice taking on a cold tone beneath its monotonous sound, "my offer still stands,_ kraut. _" Prussia said nothing but seeing he was surrounded, kept his eyes on her but rested his head back on the ground; his hand releasing the blade at hand._

 _"Canada! It's done! The city is ours!" One Captain of her infantry rushed towards her with a handful of more soldiers in tow. Netherland's could barely breathe—the weight of such good news was crushing. It was over now—all over now._

 _Madeline's lips tugged upwards if only for a moment before she stepped back from Prussia, gun still aimed, "Finally…we might win this war yet" she murmured almost to herself then to her soldiers, "Get him out of here—he surrendered and is not to be harmed. Treat him well and make sure he's patched up but only after the terms of surrender with his officers have been signed!" she called back to her troops who obediently scooped up the defeated Germanic nation and led him away while she tucked her gun back in its holster, walking over to Netherlands._

 _These were the last words Willem heard before, his mind overwhelmed with relief and numbed from all pain, blacked out; taking what he believed to be his last breaths on this earth when a pair of worn combat boots trudging towards him on the ground was the last thing he saw before he passed out._

* * *

 _A quiet buzz of voices stirred Netherlands from his dreamless sleep. His mind was foggy with fatigue and pain; a dull ache throbbed in his skull. He had to shut his eyes as immediately as he had opened them—the daylight was too bright for him at present. Groaning quietly, after a couple of attempts, he tried again but this time succeeded in keeping his eyes open. He blinked a couple of times, allowing his blurry vision to focus. He was in a bed—a cot more specifically. He had warm blankets covering him up to the chin which he promptly pushed back as his bright green eyes traveled around the room. He was in a building of sorts which looked like it had been converted into a makeshift hospital. The many side doors were open, letting in a warm spring breeze that fluttered curtains which separated each patient's space._

What in God's name…?

 _A nurse he didn't recognize saw him awake and asked him in English, "How do you feel, sir?"_

 _He blinked at the question, still feeling groggy and he struggled to sit up, hissing immediately when he tried. The nurse seemed to fret over this for a moment, trying to get him to lie back down when a soft voice called out what he presumed to be the nurse's name._

 _"Mrs. Green?" said a feminine voice which automatically stopped both the nurse and the patient; they had both recognized who the distant voice belonged to. Netherlands waited on high alert as Canada peeked around the corner of the curtains._

 _"Miss Williams! Good morning." the nurse started but was distracted by Netherland's vehement struggling to sit up, "Oh dear, please lie down."_

 _"No," he snapped stubbornly, "I want to_

 _sit up." he must have sounded like a petulant child but he was beyond caring at the moment. He had lain on the ground uselessly the last time Canada saw him and he would be damned if some old goat nurse kept him from sitting up if he was in a state to do so!_ _"You need to lie down," the nurse was unrelenting but was stopped by the Madeline's voice._

 _"Mrs. Green, could you please help sit him up?" Canada was polite in her request but mild in her tone._

 _"No," he said irritably as the nurse grasped his shoulders, "I'll do it myself." Netherlands had never much cared for doctors or nurses—not for himself anyway. He was much more the "_ _walk it off" or "rub some dirt in it" type of person. Being coddled never sat well with him so he took the opportunity to shake off the nurse's hands and push himself up in bed despite the pain it caused him._

 _"Thank you, Mrs. Green but I can watch him for now. I'll let you know if he needs anything." Canada said, politely dismissing the nurse who nodded hesitantly before setting off to undoubtedly pin some other poor bastard to his bed._

 _Willem gawked at the nation before him, unsure in what to say or do. He was finally meeting his saviour after all. Canada on the other hand seemed at ease if not at least a tad awkward. "Good morning," said she drawing the curtains shut around them and blessedly blocking out some of the intense sunlight, "I hope you're feeling better."_ _Netherlands, stared for a moment in uncertainty. He checked himself—he could think straight, he didn't feel like he was dying and he sat himself up straight in bed which was something he couldn't have done the last time he was awake._

 _Holland noticed with interest that now she wore glasses; he was certain she hadn't been wearing them when she fought Prussia._

 _He cleared his throat, his voice a hoarse murmur as he answered, "I am…thank you." Holland had no clue of what to say or do at this point—he was just reeling from all that had happened. The war was over, his mystery nation, Canada was here in the flesh and he was_ _alive—and that was certainly a shocker._

 _She looked tired and appeared to be recovering from a few injuries but was clean and looked remarkably well put together. Her golden locks were the fashionable medium length present in the last decade and although not meticulously intricate had been styled properly for the occasion of a formal visit to an acquaintance in the hospital. She looked very well indeed and he believed it was decent to tell her so but he was honestly struggling trying to wrapping his head around the fact that he wasn't dead let alone attempting to start a conversation._

 _However, Canada didn't seem to mind his silence but she did seem to realize something and spoke up, "Oh, I'm sorry; where are my manners?" she murmured, stepping around the bed to offer him her hand, "I'm Canada—Madeline Williams."_ _He actually paused in a moment of accepting her hand when he saw his hand and wrist had been bandaged (he realized while shifting in his bed that he could feel bandages everywhere in fact). Grimly, he figured that seemed about right. His brief moment of stupefied surprise ended quickly when he took her scraped up hand in his. They shook briefly, Netherlands noticing her hands were warm and she had a pleasantly firm grip._

 _"Netherlands," he murmured, simply._

 _The blonde nation smiled kindly at him, her amethyst eyes warm with delight, "It's nice to meet you at last." He was left to wonder just what she meant by that for only a brief moment before he hesitantly murmured back, "And to you…"_ _She smiled easily then looked around the room idly. Clearly she wasn't as outspoken as she tried to be in the moment for she too looked a little lost for words, "I'm glad I caught you awake," she finally said, "Were you awake for long?"_

 _He shook his head but then furrowed his brows, "How long have I…?" he trailed off, afraid to know the answer to how long he had been unconscious for although he reasoned it couldn't have been that long—Canada still had a bandage covering the gash he remembered on her forehead._ _"It's been almost three days" she answered dutifully but spotting the upset expression he took on she continued, "But I have great news; Your people are doing well—they're a very lively bunch for people who had faced such hardships—the doctors here feel that they'll be back on their feet and better than ever in record time!" she explained in delight._

 _For the first time he noticed she had a bouquet of flowers in her hands—tulips. She must have caught his curious gaze on the blooms because she suddenly seemed to remember them herself, "Oh! I almost forgot," she muttered in embarrassment, "These are for you" she said, placing the arrangement in his arms. "I hope you don't mind the simplicity of it—I hear these are your favourite and locals helped me pick from the ones that had survived."_

 _Netherlands blinked at the bundle of his most beloved flowers in his lap, stunned._

 _"You should be very proud of them," she continued, "and considering all that you've been through, I imagine they are very proud of you, too." Madeline said genuinely, her smile friendly and pleasant. "You've done so much and now you can finally rest easy." she said with a grim relief, "the war is over—Germany surrendered earlier today and it's all over now. I'll take care of the rest here. You don't have to worry about anything anymore."_

 _Netherlands tried to grasp what seemed like such an impossible concept—the war was over? Could it be? It was all he ever dreamed about every day for the better half of a decade. It was all that there was for him but one day he is held captive under Nazi occupation, half dead and barely conscious and the next thing he knew, he woke up in a bed and was told that the war was over by his very own saviour._

 _Willem wasn't sure how long the silence had lasted—to him it seemed like an entire lifetime. His mind went alarmingly blank for a moment as he stared at Madeline, completely stunned, feeling a strange lump forming in his throat._

Drip.  
 _  
Netherlands felt a warm droplet splatter on his hand that lay poised over his tulips, then another and then another. It took him a moment before he realized that the saline drops of water were his tears and he clenched his jaw so tight, he feared it might shatter. His shaky, bandaged hand covered his eyes as the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, gathered under his chin and fell onto his free hand, clutching tightly at the bouquet._

 _He hated himself right now—God, he must seem like such a pathetic weakling but so much emotion had welled up in his chest—five years of pain, sadness and of crushing and earth shattering hopelessness that suffocated him. He had to watch his people, the people he truly did love suffer and perish—as they were murdered and suffering and so utterly_ hopeless.

 _For five years, he lived under the crushing weight of that responsibility—knowing he should have been able to stop it but he couldn't. He was powerless and weak to save what he loved most and could only watch as it quite literally went up in flames. He had felt beyond worthless, beyond desperate and beyond_ hopeless _. The worst thing was realizing that all hope was gone, was watching it shrink and wither as it faded away into dust._

 _For five years, he had tried and failed and tried and failed again to free himself and his people from oppression. He had failed them even though he did everything he could—he had done his best and it still wasn't good enough, it still couldn't save those lost or comfort those grieving._

 _For five years, he had to wait for someone to help him—he hoped against hope that someone could save him, he prayed for salvation. Day in and day out he thought that perhaps this would be the day they send help—maybe today is the day that all the pain will end. Every day he thought this for three years until he gave up the ridiculous hope that he would be saved. Year in and year out he dreamed, he prayed, he_ _begged that someone would deliver him and his people from the evils of the world._

 _For five years…he had suffered unspeakably._

 _But then there was her; this woman, this nation who isn't even a century old who swoops in and saves him from the jaws of death and his own personal hell. Above all, she truly cared. She had shown it in her endless kindness again and again. She protected his Queen, fed his people and defended him against a nation that had become a monstrous feat to conquer under the Nazi reign. She did all the things he could not do…and yet she praised him?_ _She told him he should be proud, that he did a good job as a nation and protector of his people, that he wasn't useless and that she would handle things. He had been waiting so long for someone to help him break free, it was all he wanted._

 _Netherlands felt every emotion all at once; joy, hatred, sadness, anger, relief…it was all too much to bear but he braced it all— rejoicing in the fact that all that he felt proved that he was alive and breathing. He had survived and he_ wanted _to_ _feel everything. His whirlwind of feelings, the swelling storm of emotion toiling on a restless ocean, ebbing and flowing inside his heart allowed him that. It was too much and not enough all at once._

 _While Willem felt his soul soar onto a plane of happiness and sorrow unprecedented, Madeline on the other hand was somewhere between horrified, saddened, yet understanding (and more than a little guilty at the thought that her words seemed to break something in the man)._ _His voice was thick as he let out a bitter laugh, "I'm so weak…" he growled to himself, hating how his voice cracked at the end and dropping his hands from his eyes. Holland sat up straighter and cleared his throat, trying desperately to regain some of his sacred masculine pride._

 _"Oh no," she hushed under her breath, sitting down on an empty wooden chair beside his bed. Madeline sat at his bedside and gently patted his bandaged hand, now dampened with his tears, soothingly, "No, I don't think that's true, Netherlands," she spoke softly, a nurturing whisper as she stroked his hand. "Nobody cries because they're weak—they cry because they've been strong for too long." She murmured tenderly._

 _He took one look at her gentle expression and knew she was being sincere._

 _"It's okay—everything is going to be okay" she soothed. She wasn't just saying things to coax him nor was she simply trying to shut him up or make light of an uncomfortable situation. She believed in her own words and had spoken them not only for his benefit but simply because she felt them to be the truth. She was honest and he admired that in a person. It dawned on him with startling clarity that he believed her—he trusted her with his life so if she said things were going to be fine, he would give her the benefit of doubt. He would believe her. Holland already held her with such respect in his mind and in his heart—not only for all she had done to leave him so endlessly indebted to her but for the kind and gentle woman she was. He owed his life to her and whether she knew it or not, one day he would repay her for all her kindness._

 _And whether_ he _knew it or not, Willem was already in love with her._

* * *

 _He didn't see much of Canada after her visit at his bedside. Four days had passed before he had been admitted to leave his bed was allowed to properly walk about thought the word "allowed" in this instance had to be used very carefully as Netherlands' caregivers did not actually consent to him leaving bed. Willem had simply insisted that he was well enough to walk and refused stay in bed and would fight anyone who told him otherwise. He was a stubborn old man in his own right, after all._

 _The doctors insisted he walk with a cane for the next week and he took it only to humour them fully intending to ditch it as soon as he was out of sight._

 _He had been told that Canada had dropped by the other day although he had been sleeping at the time if only to inquire after his health. The nurses had explained to him that despite her wishes to visit him, she had been busy in her duties aiding his people and essentially picking up the pieces from the ruins of his once proud city among other things. Therefore Netherlands hadn't actually seen her since he first woke up in the makeshift hospital._

 _Netherlands felt a bit shaky as he began to walk freely for the first time in, well, a long time. In the closing months of the war, the Germans often took to locking him up and making sure he was beaten and broken and as weak as he possibly could be. It had been a smart decision on their part—God knows Netherlands, in his better health at the beginning of the occupation, had plenty of times took whatever opportunity he could to lash out on a few Nazis and snap their necks._

 _He felt wobbly and lightheaded—kind of like recovering from the flu on top of horrendous injuries. Doctors seemed downright pitiful when they read him the list of just what his damage had been. On top of the various gashes, cuts and bruises that covered the expanse of his emaciated body, he sported black eye, a shattered cheekbone and collarbone, a sprained wrist, three cracked ribs, two bruised fingers, a crack in his skull and one hell of a headache. Not only this, but he had his left arm (with a bone chipped) in a sling and a limp in his right leg. Apparently he had suffered from internal bleeding that they at first feared they couldn't stop but his accelerated healing even as a half dead nation began to kick and systematically began to heal that first once he was being cared for._

 _Taking another step outside and into the streets, he leaned a little more heavily. Perhaps he would need this damn cane after all. It came as a bitter realization to him that he in fact did. Leaning against the wall of a building, he laid his cane on the wall and brushed his hair out of his face with his hand now free of the cane. His caregivers had wiped off and bathed most of the grime from his body and face but his hair was still a disaster. God, he couldn't even style it so it stayed out of his face. His face twisted up in distaste at the unkempt tangles and cruddy texture of his hair; it was not pleasant._

 _Sighing, he took up his cane once more, careful not to jostle his injured arm secured in a sling as he pushed himself off of the wall and continued his walk through his downtrodden city at a safe pace. He was glad he had refused an escort as he preferred the moment of solitude to breathe in the moist and crisp morning air of dewy spring. Today had been colder than days before and puddles filled the streets from the previous night's downpour._

 _Though he refused company he began to doubt it had been a good idea. He had been walking about five or ten minutes and he was already feeling the strain. Holland sighed, desperately wishing he would at least heal quickly so he could begin to pick up the pieces of his shattered land._ _Voices in what sounded like English around the corner reached Netherlands; his ears perking up at the foreign language. Careful not to trip in his haste, he limped on around the street. His eyes were drawn to see four specific Canadian troops talking in the street._ _One was sitting on the ground and by the looks of it, repairing a tank tread on the ground while the other two stood above him, one smoking a cigarette and stood to the side, ready to help should the former ask for it. The other had his hands on his belt and was turned and spoke with volume at some other troops a short distance away confirming orders given. The last Canadian however stood by the second soldier, arms folded behind her back, feet shoulder width apart—the posture of an authority figure at ease._

 _This soldier was familiar. Canada stood with her blonde waves that ended just below her shoulder had been pulled back beneath her uniform barrette—clearly left unstyled and naturally to be tied away as she worked. She seemed calm and had apparently just happened upon the few men as she inquired after their progress._

 _"Shouldn't be too long now, Ma'am" said the Canadian who had stopped smoking out of respect as soon as his superior joined them. "Treads are tricky but not impossible to fix within a reasonable time."_

 _The soldier repairing the broken tread in turn let out a humourless bark of laughter, "That's easy for you t' say when yer not the one damn well fixin' in now're you?" the man remarked haughtily, cranking his wrench over the tread._

 _Netherlands' brow furrowed at the man's accent. It sounded almost Scottish but not quite—perhaps Irish? He decided it had indeed sounded twisted in some more subdued dialect vaguely British._ _The soldier who had been smoking simply gave a passive eye roll while the third soldier laughed, "Easy now, MacFadden,"the third and youngest soldier said "Don't get so riled up, lad. He's just answerin' a question is all." This one also shared the older man's semi-Scottish (or rather Irish, he couldn't tell) accent but much less potent—he decided that this sounded a little flatter if anything._

 _The one who had been smoking seemed to be the only one without the strange accent, "If I left you to do the talking, no one would understand you."_

 _Canada seemed amused though she said nothing._

 _The first man pushed up his cap a little as he looked up at the passive soldier only to fix him with a halfheartedly nasty look. The middle soldier, who the apparent mechanic's derision was directed at, seemed unfazed—it was clear that these two were friends who took to friendly bickering often._

 _"Ma'am would've understood what I said, wouldn't ya, Miss Williams?" He addressed his nation respectfully. Netherlands thought it was still rather bold to speak to his nation and superior with (granted, still respectful) informality. However, the Canadian nation smiled and replied with her voice suddenly taking on the estranged accent, "Aye, I would've,"_

 _The mechanic and the youngest soldier (who seemed overall very good-natured and energetic) laughed in delight—even the more stoic middleman seemed to crack a smile. The younger soldier then added in a teasing tone to the mechanic, "_ but what're ya at? Is ya 'ard at it all de time or wa? _"_

 _"This is it." Replied the man, playing along with whatever regional joke there was going on. "Oh and Ma'am, next is a blown out engine that needs fixin'."_

 _"I ask that you don't encourage him, ma'am" The calm one said to Canada, "When this one," a nod to the mechanic, "realizes someone speaks his_ _Newfinese jabbering, no one can understand a bloody word of he says then and he doesn't shut up."_

Newfinese? _Netherlands blinked at the strange slang but stored away the term._

 _"Aye," the youngest soldier with russet hair and a cheeky grin commented, "and then that tread will never get fixed." The eldest of the three young men shot them dirty looks but scoffed and went back to work on the broken tank piece, grumbling to himself, "Damn fine time for a tread t' break," he paused, "but better after the war than durin' 't I suppose."_

 _"Still," Canada sighed this time without the accent present in her voice, sounding tired, "There's work to be done."_

 _The engineer scoffed again, "Oh, aye! Cleanin' up the mess that nobody else desires havin' to—why do we always get stuck wit' the shite jobs, eh?" he laughed without much humour, comically shaking his head even though he remained focus on his repairs._

 _"Orders are orders." Canada said simply, looking grim._

 _"Direct from Britain, I take it then?" asked the younger one—though his tone hinted that it was more a statement than an actual question. Canada nodded but said nothing but the engineer( the "Newfiense" speaker) spoke up once more, "I tells ya it's enough wit' these damn Americans takin' all the credit but for the damn Anglish ne'er want ta git their 'ands dirty!" he complained, muttering as he went about his work._

 _Canada's frown seemed to broaden for a moment before she sighed and managed to look amused, "_ Mind you? _" the accent weaved into her voice then out once more at the drop of a hat, "Well, dirt cleans off easily enough—blood is harder."_ _The three men suddenly looked forlorn and grim; grave frowns settled on their faces and spoke volumes of the horrors they had witnessed these past years. Canada spoke up again, "Regardless, it doesn't matter who takes the credit—as long as the job gets done. We've done our duty." said she solemnly._ _The youngest one added, trying to lighten the situation. "That's right! If they want the credit let it be," he grinned an unexpectedly impish grin next as he said, "I wonder how fast they would be passin' the blame if they'll end up lookin' like assholes. I'd love to see them take credit—rest easy any screw ups we might've made on the field will fall to them."_

 _They all laughed and Netherlands though was surprised to see a young woman (granted, she was much older than she looked in appearance) so completely at ease surrounded by such lively character and he found himself entertained by her unique character. She looked completely down to earth and laidback with her countrymen._

 _"_ Sweet Jesus Murphy _, the lot's in deep shite then" laughed the man named MacFadden._

 _"Speak the_ King's _, ya Newfie bastard" said the quiet soldier, purposefully mimicking the man's accent atrociously. The youngest one Netherlands' had heard being called Thomas earlier and Canada grinned at the patient man's mild loss of temper._

 _"Oh, George! I just dies at you!" remarked the man sarcastically; twirling his wrench about in his hands seeming humoured for a moment before snapping, Kiss, me arse, ya pillock! Who knit ya?" he asked irritably._

 _The patient "George" and MacFadden began arguing good-naturedly while Thomas laughed at the free entertainment and Canada shook her head, smiling fondly as she looked away in exasperation. It was then her eyes found Netherlands across the way. She immediately perked up and shouted over to him, "Oh, Netherlands!_ Stay where you're at til I comes where you're to! _" She seemed to regret her words as soon as they escaped her lips for the two Newfoundlanders behind her burst out laughing at her slip of accent and slang from her north eastern province—apparently the being around one of her regional accents unwittingly brought it out of her._

 _Thomas, who had been laughing the whole time was doubled over and clutched at his sides; his own accent coming out thicker, "What's after happenin' now?" he teased then after sucking in a harsh breath, "Ah, I handy 'bout died!" he guffawed, wiping away a tear._

 _Netherlands had not a_ damn _clue of what was going on or what any of the words exchanged in the last few minutes. Hell, he wasn't even sure if they had been speaking English anymore. Canada, seeing his confusion reiterated, "Stay where you are and I'll come to you!"_

 _Ah, back to English._

 _Murmuring a few orders to the three men regarding "clean-up" and "rooting them (presumably any stray Nazis in hiding) out", she suggested that they rest up before their next mission and briskly walked over to Netherlands who honestly didn't know how to react. Hearing her speak with that impossibly complicated accent was certainly some spectacle. "Netherlands—out of bed I see. How are you feeling?" her voice was pleasant if not a little rushed to mask her embarrassment._

 _"Better, thank you" he replied, watching her with amusement. This Canada was full of surprises and certainly hadn't been anything that he was ever expecting her to be. Oddly enough, he was glad that she hadn't met his expectations of what he imagined her to be—he liked this reality much better. "I was making my rounds and planning to stop by the hospital," she added nervously, "It looks like I got a little side-tracked. Sorry…"she murmured sounding awfully close to ashamed. Netherlands looked back at the three Canadian troops who had busied themselves repairing the tank tread, all three smiling broadly as two curious children watched from a distance. He noticed with interest that this wasn't the first time he saw Canadian troops delighted by the children of the city. He had often seen them sharing their rations with them (easily sparing full loafs of bread which made them and their families weep with happiness), allowing kids to play with their helmets and over all looking overjoyed to see innocence and youth still existed. He wondered if this was indicative Canada's possible love of children._

 _Netherlands shook his head, "It's not a problem." Madeline nodded her head absentmindedly, casting a glance around the town before she seemed to realize something that vexed her "You've been out strolling…alone?" she asked._

 _"Hm." he hummed in the positive._

 _Canada looked awfully perturbed by this, her brow furrowing endearingly. Clearly she didn't agree with his admittedly bad idea since he was clearly in no shape to be left unattended yet let alone touring a destroyed city. "Didn't anyone offer you company?" she seemed upset and disturbed by the very idea._

 _"I prefer solitude." he said by way of explanation._

 _Madeline nodded in understanding, "I see," she murmured lowering her voice softly. Netherlands took notice of this and apparently his rock-solid character took a 180 spin as he suddenly decided that he very much craved company during his stroll and added hastily, "However, I do enjoy the right company" Here, he would have smoothly offered her his arm, but with one in a sling and the other needed to hold his damn cane he resisted the instinct to do so, cursing sourly in his mind._

 _She gave him a blithe smile and they began their walk._

 _Willem appreciated how she kept the pace slow and light, not bothered at all by his sluggish speed. Though Madeline was unbothered and more than understanding for his plight, Netherlands cursed his gimp leg and told himself that he would make Germany and Prussia rue the day they met him. Oh, he simply couldn't wait until he was restored to health._

 _Silence stretched out a little uncomfortably if Madeline's gaze wandering everywhere but to him was any indication. Willem suddenly found himself looking for a topic of conversation which was completely out of character for him. It was clear that the quiet creature beside him only spoke out of necessity or with those she was well acquainted. He was the same way. When he did speak with people, he usually wasn't the one to speak first and it was becoming perfectly clear that it was he who would have to spark some sort of conversation or else there wouldn't be any as Canada sure didn't mind the silence. So when he found a cause for conversation, he jumped on it._

 _"You speak…Newfinese?" he asked a little awkwardly. He felt like kicking himself for asking such a question. Oh, this was so unlike him! Perhaps what was strangest to Willem was that he actually_ wanted _to speak with Madeline. He was admittedly a rather unsocial bastard—or so he'd been told. The fact that he was willfully engaging in social interaction was a miracle in and around itself._

 _His voice gained her immediate attention and to say that Canada looked confused was an understatement but to Willem's relief, a flicker of understanding passed through her eyes before she let out a small embarrassed chuckle, "Oh, you heard that, eh?" she looked sheepish as she continued, "Newfinese—that's a little joke. Um, you see two of those men I'm sure you heard had accents from a province in my home called_

 _Newfoundland and Labrador. They get the nickname "Newfies" and are known for having…" she searched for the right word, "…unique accents" at her phrasing she gave him a playful smile, "Depending on where you go there, the many different accents and their slang are so thick that it sounds like a different language so people joke that they speak "Newfinese" she clarified._

 _"Ah," he said unintelligently, his lips thin. Netherlands felt like kicking himself once again since he realized just how foolish his question must have sounded. This was precisely why he never spoke on a casual level—because he wasn't any good at it, dammit. Regardless he stored the information learned away for future reference._

 _Some Dutch natives saw Canada and waved or cheered at her as they saw her pass. Netherlands watched as the young woman blushed and waved back modestly with a bashful smile. She looked almost embarrassed for their praises but ever so modest. It wasn't an isolated incident however. As their walks progressed, countless locals shook her hand or offered her (and in turn, Netherlands) tulips. She would graciously accept each if not with a nervous nature—as if she wasn't at all used to such attention. Netherland's carefully observed each encounter with growing curiosity. Canada's caught his eyes on her person and her reaction seemed to grow only more flustered._

 _He suddenly had the feeling that she was extremely embarrassed to be receiving so much attention from his people especially with him beside her, "They love you," he said after the most recent flock of admirers left them. "I can feel as well as see it."_

 _She was spared from coming up with a response when both herself and Netherlands felt a gentle tug—her on her coat and him on his scarf. The two turned and were surprised to find a little girl behind them who couldn't have been older than ten. Her round eyes were brown and her blonde hair was tied in two pigtails with blue ribbons. Recognition coursed through Netherlands and he froze—this was the little girl he had returned to his mother those years ago when all hell broke loose. Surprisingly Canada seemed to recognize this child and her expression immediately softened as she crouched down in front of her and said, "Goedemorgen, Rosalinde—did I say it right? Goede? Ja, nee?" she asked the little girl sheepishly. Rosalinde smiled and nodded her consent._

 _Madeline rubbed her arm awkwardly as she looked up at Netherlands, "That's all I really know" she admitted in defeat. "Right after Prussia surrendered and we got you to safety I ran into her. She had a horrible fever, the poor thing." Netherlands pulled himself out of his state of shock and managed to nod in understanding. "Would you mind asking her how her mother is doing?" she asked._

 _Netherlands was more than happy to oblige but the question itself raised a couple questions of his own. "What happened to her mother?" Canada went on to explain that her mother had been injured during the chaos a few days ago of but was brought to the hospital with no threat of mortality. Netherlands felt guilt squeeze at his heart again. Regret that he wasn't stronger, that he hadn't taken more precautions before the Nazis invaded gnawed at him. Regardless, he did as he was asked and translated on Canada's behalf. Apparently her mother was well at home now and on the mend._

 _"Take this to your mother, okay?" Madeline offered the girl a tulip. Netherlands well pleased with Canada's attitude towards the child graciously translated to the girl and added his own good wishes for the girl's mother before she (to Netherland's surprise, hugged both their legs) scampered off. His heart warmed at knowing she and her mother would at last be safe and that the child would be able to grow up in a land free of war or oppression._

 _It was here that Netherlands was reminded of just how much he owed the young nation beside him. He was someone who was very uncomfortable with owing people anything but this was completely different. He wanted to repay her not simply to settle some debt out of obligation but because everything he was, had or might be was possible because of what she had done. That child, Rosalinde and her mother might have been dead within days without medical assistance or the strenuous conditions of life at war if she had not shown up to save the day. Even now, she stayed to take care of what problems he could while he was on the mend and began to clear out what was left of any Nazi regime. This reminded him of something one of the Newfoundlanders had said about always taking the dirty jobs._

 _"How long will you be staying here for?" the question sounded much too innocent to bear the weight that it did._

 _Canada tried to hide the displeasure she felt but Netherlands saw that the grim flicker in her eyes betrayed her. "A while," she sighed then, "it depends on how long my work here takes but the war is over and things usually move pretty fast from here on out." said she, her voice tight. It was strange for Willem to hear words so much like a soldiers come out of the mouth of such a young girl. Granted, she wasn't young—not really, anyways. "I'm to move onto Amsterdam and The Hague next—strict orders from Britain, I'm afraid" she murmured._

 _Now, Willem was by no means a social person but he had a knack for reading people and something here was very wrong in the way her tone shifted solemnly upon mentioning Britain and in assuming this, he was very right._

 _Sure enough, Canada did carry out her duties day by day as she had said. Months passed and Netherlands very quickly found his strength within weeks after his liberation. However, all too soon it seemed that under Britain's orders Canada and her infantry moved on to the rest of his lands to do the jobs that no other Ally would take. Willem suddenly remembered all of Bella's past mentions of the young nation, of Canada's bravery, modesty and unrelenting strength of character. He remembered her anger upon relaying that after Canada had liberated her, America stroll in to take the credit and Britain waited until she had finished cleaning up the mess only to be sent away while he accepted her honours. Bella never quite forgave Britain or America for this slight and if he understood her anger then he completely empathized with her rage now._

 _He felt the loss of Canada's presence at Rotterdam most acutely; regretting that he never quite got the chance to thank her properly but when his Queen arrived home working busily to relieve the suffering in his land. Besides her safe arrival home, Willem was truly elated that she shared his sentiment in desiring to properly thank Canada for all her and her thousands of men had sacrificed for them. Together, they planned for quite the gesture of gratitude for their humble saviour._

* * *

Netherlands woke from sleep, his mind reeling with his latest stroll down memory lane via dreamland. A week—this made it a week in full that he had dreamt of her every night. He noticed that he always dreamt of her in the coming days before the anniversary of his liberation. Yet, as the years had progressed the fabric of his dreams shifted and changed. In the past he would often dream of his occupation and the haunting imagery of death, blood and ruin which left him waking up in a panicked cold sweat.

In the recent years of his changing dreamscape he found that he did indeed still dream of his occupation but most dreams nowadays were fueled towards his memories of Canada's involvement in liberating him—he dreamt of her care packages, her aiding the queen, his infrequent chats with her before she was shipped out of Rotterdam and her awaited return. His dreams took on a more pleasing note whenever she came into view.

Netherlands sighed and ran a hand through his unstyled bedhead.

Willem wasn't a very sentimental man; at least he didn't think so. He wasn't one to dwell on the past for too long unless it was of real consequence. Though it was a crucial time in his life, it still didn't explain why he thought so much of it or rather why he thought so much about her from that time. Yes, Holland was by no means very sappy or mawkish but he was in fact self-aware. He knew that it wasn't normal to have a woman claim his mind, his thoughts and his dreams so persistently even if she had saved his life before. He knew that his attentiveness towards Canada was one that exceeded appreciation or simple fondness, beyond infatuation perhaps. He was undeniably attracted to her and often found himself searching for her when he knew she would be attending the same events as him. Holland always seemed to feel her presence most acutely, found that he enjoyed her company when he had it and was endlessly curious about her character that even almost a century later remained so enigmatic to him. In short, he liked her…he liked her a very great deal. Yes, he decided that she was very agreeable indeed.

Glancing at the alarm clock on the bedside table, he saw it was just before eight in the morning and decided to get up. He had made sure to sleep as early as he could as soon as he checked into a hotel in Ottawa. God knows he didn't want a repeat of Canada worrying over the bags under his eyes as she had in the past. Climbing out of bed, Netherlands stood before the hotel window and closed his eyes, feeling the warm rays of sunlight that streamed through the glass warm his face.

Today was the day—the 70th anniversary of his liberation and of his acquaintance with the very lovely Canada.

He lingered before the window for a moment longer then taking in a deep breath, went about getting himself ready for the day ahead.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **And here we have it! How Netherlands met Canada! And I totally wasn't getting emotional writing the hospital scene...*sweats nervously***

 **And we met Prussia too! Don't worry, he'll be back. I hope that fight scene was dangerous enough while still entertaining.**

 **There will be a lot more Canadian based humour to come.**

 **"Newfinese" translations:**

 ** _"_ But what're ya at?" This is essentially "What are you doing?" Can be said in greeting.**

 **Usually the response to this is "This is it" or "Nothing". An actor from Newfoundland,** **Allan Hawco, once said you could be building a house and if someone asked you that question they'd probably say "nothing". These two answers are self explanatory and hilarious in their simplicity. There is a video of him explaining some of these terms and he is hilarious.**

 **"Is ya '(h)ard at it all de (the) time or wa (what)? _"_ Essentially, "Are you working hard?"**

 **"I just dies at you!" Essentially "You make me laugh!"**

 **"Who knit ya?" is usually asked to say "who is your mother/parents?" Here I used it to be asked in a sarcastic way to say "who raised you?" to imply that the other is being rude.**

 ** _"What's after happenin' now" means "what just happened?"_**

 **"I hand 'bout died!" means "I almost died laughing!"**

 **and my favourite, "Stay where you're at till I comes where you're too!" (I heard this said different ways as well) As Canada said, "Stay where you are until I come to you!"**

 **if you want a better understanding of how it the accent and talk would sound, (if not a little exaggerated) watch?v=zqLuIXwsLDw**  
  
 **FUN HISTORY...?**  


 **Both in England and here in Canada back in the time of the war, "Speaking the King's (English)" is essentially the vernacular for English or proper English in any respect. Since Queen Elizabeth II is on the throne, the phrase can still be heard but as "the Queen's English". Here in Canada, you might hear this phrase if you talk to the right people. It can be quite a humourous phrase if you use it in the right way.**

 **Newfoundland and Labrador (home to the Labrador dog breed! Friendly people come from here and friendly dogs too!) is in north eastern coast Canada by the Atlantic and home to some of the nicest (yet difficult to understand) Canadians (but that's just a stereotype, it really depends where you go). These lovely Canadians have an array of different accents which have derived from the English, Irish and French settlers who first settled in the area. They have a very unique way of talking (that to me personally is adorable). They can be known for rapid speech and one Newfie comedian Mark Critch I once heard recalled a musician from Newfoundland known for a quick tongue had someone say "you're speaking to fast" where he replied "you're listening too slow".**

 **And if you are from Newfoundland I hope to God that I didn't offend you with the way I tried to sound out their accents in the words and please tell me if I used the phrases correctly! I'm from Canada but have never been to Newfoundland unfortunately but I have heard the accents and know you guys are the said to be some of the sweetest little darlings in Canada!**

 **Until next time!**


	5. Unveiling

**Author's Note:**

 **I'm back! Sorry for the wait! I have to admit, I've had a bit of writer's block on this chapter but I think I've got an idea for the future chapters now! Being an improvised author sucks.**

 **DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN HETALIA OR IT'S CHARACTERS. ANY RESEMBLANCE BETWEEN CHARACTERS LIVING OR DEAD (OR FICTIONAL) IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL. I ALSO DO NOT OWN JOHN MCCRAE'S WONDERFUL POEM, _IN FLANDERS FIELDS_ ALTHOUGH I SORELY WISH I DID!  
**  
 **As always, enjoy!**

 **R &R TOO!**

* * *

Netherlands was out and about strolling the streets of Ottawa with a fresh bouquet of tulips at hand. The sun was bright and the day was mild—a truly magnificent morning. He loved late springs in Canada. The weather was simply perfect. The temperature not too hot or too cold; a light breeze which rustled through the vibrantly green leaves of the trees lining the park. It reminded him of his summers back home. Perhaps the weather was the reason his tulips flourished here in the spring and summer months. He breathed in the fresh air, content to be outdoors on such a lovely day.

He strolled through one street of what he had come to know as the Byward Market—a charming section of the city full of shops, restaurants and open air vending stalls overflowing with produce and flowers. He ventured down one street of several that encompassed the expanse of the market. Enjoying the old and charming buildings that still stood in the city from the early 1800's, he tried to imagine what Canada would look like in clothing from the Victorian or Edwardian Era. Holland imagined the elegant feminine styles would suit her very well.

His attention was brought back to the present when he spied a small bookshop and displayed in its large windows was a small red leather bound book among others; its simple yet enticing title shone in gold lettering, "OUR CANADIAN POEMS". He halted in his tracks to examine the book through the glass, thoroughly intrigued. Now, Netherlands often projected the image of a stoic and intimidating man without a sentimental bone in his body—a man's man. Although this was for the most part true, he wasn't made of stone and enjoyed the written word. He was a great lover of poetry so naturally, he leapt at the chance to expand his collection (yes, there was a collection) especially if it might aid him in understanding Canada and her people.

With the small book of poetry he purchased tucked safely in his coat pocket he continued his walk from the market towards the park, ready to stroll down the familiar pathways lined with vendors that winded deeper into the park and the fields of endless tulips that spanned the way. He stopped at the entrance and sat on a bench in between a lemonade stand and an ice cream cart setting up shop, watching the city slowly coming to life. Tourists and locals alike walked the trails, eager to view the lovely blooms that lay waiting on the luscious park grounds.

Willem adored the capital city of the northern nation. It was quiet, it was simple and the locals he encountered were never cross or ill-tempered but friendly and polite. The atmosphere in the parks and in the markets was always lively and happy. He couldn't remember visiting another place that made him feel so at ease before that wasn't his home. Not many people were out in the park since it was a Tuesday morning but he knew that would soon change once the afternoon rolled around. For now, he would enjoy himself and the lovely Canadian spring day. He usually met Canada around this area at about ten o'clock but that was in two hours. Besides, he had time before he would make his way to the parliament building in the heart of the city a short distance away to join the ceremony.

His most recent purchase sat cozily inside his pocket, whispering to him; calling out his name to request that he turn its ink filled pages from cover to cover. Just as he was about to indulge himself in reading he looked up to see Canada a mere three feet in front of him. She was looking down at him with surprise but there was a strange look in her eyes that betrayed more than confusion, "Netherlands?"

Netherlands blinked up at her, dumbfounded.

He stood immediately, almost too fast and she leaned back a little as he came to stand at his full height. For a fleeting moment, the two could only stare at each other in mild shock and confusion. After a beat passed, Netherlands cleared his throat softly, "Miss Canada," he started a little awkwardly, unsure of what to say next—in all honesty, he was still trying to figure out how in the hell she managed to sneak up on him, her of all people! God knew Holland practically had sonic radar activated in his brain solely for Canada's existence. The hum of her presence was something he felt most intensely that tipped him off to her arrival in his vicinity and it was greatly disturbing that recently his special "spidey senses" had begun to fail him.

Canada gave him an awkward smile that was a little concerned but ever so polite as she began, "I'm sorry I frightened you; I called to you but I guess you didn't hear me" said she.

Willem failed in repressing a frown if only for a moment. He was most thoroughly put off by this news. She had called to him and he _hadn't_ heard? Something was definitely off with that but Netherlands didn't voice his thoughts but instead murmured, "I apologize—I was too deep in thought, I suppose." This was a lie but she didn't need to know that.

Madeline shook her head fervently, "Oh, no! Don't worry about it," she said, "it happens".

Netherlands once again felt a grimace fighting its way to his face but he restrained it this time; he knew exactly how many times people ignored Canada and he, whether intentional or not, never wanted to be one of them. However, Willem resigned to distract her from the fact as quickly as he could and remembered the bouquet of tulips left waiting on the bench. He turned and grabbed the cluster of blooms and presented them to her charmingly, "For you," he said as he extended the bouquet to her. Willem watched her expression change as she blinked at the bouquet of flowers and a lovely blush tinted her cheeks. She accepted the bouquet and admired the blooms in her arms then looking up at him from beneath her thick lashes smiled gratefully, "Thank you, Netherlands. Seventy years and you've never forgotten." He smiled ironically at her words.

 _More than you'll ever know,_ he thought to himself.

Canada delighted in his gift but looked up at him in curiosity, "What were you doing out here all by yourself?" she asked, wide violet eyes questioning with deeper a meaning than she voiced.

Stuffing his gloved hands in his coat pockets, he shrugged and gently fingered the edge of the poem book that lay stowed away secretly. "Nothing," he said noncommittally, "I was just about to take a stroll." This was a half-truth of course. He had intended to walk through the park some more but only after he had contented himself in enjoying his new poetry book first—the book's existence he had not felt quite so inclined to share with her yet.

"You haven't viewed the tulips yet?" asked she.

Shaking his head, "No," he said, "I was quite hoping to do that in your company."

"Oh," Canada flushed, clearly a bit flustered by his sudden forthrightness, "o-of course. Should we do that now?" She pointed with one finger, hand still curled around her bouquet. Netherlands merely nodded and the two set off on their stroll.

They walked in time together, Canada cradling the sizable bouquet in her slender arms while he strode beside her, arms folded neatly behind his back. Though they strolled in relative silence, each was unaware that the other had been paying special attention to the other. Netherlands noticed the Canadian was wearing a formal navy dress suit. Elegant and conservative, it was simple and had an old fashioned feel to it that was still appealing (if even a little too stuffy for what Netherlands thought would suit her youth). Her golden locks were held back in a much more elaborate bun than the ones she usually wore during world conferences. She had small pearl earrings and a necklace to match. He decided it was very British—something that one in England might wear in the royal court—all she was missing was a pair of dainty white gloves and a fascinator.

She almost had a stylish librarian air about her that was amusing to Holland especially since she only looked to be about twenty three years old physically.

Willem had taken extra care in dressing and grooming today and wore a handsome suit which had been pressed exquisitely for the occasion (along with his favourite scarf of course) and Canada noticed his impeccable state of dress. He looked very handsome indeed. If she was being honest with herself, it had never (ever) escaped her notice that he was in fact a very good looking man and it certainly showed now. In the full daylight his hair looked much blonder—more so than the dirty blonde and light-brownish tone it usually had. She suddenly realized that she hadn't seen him in much else other than suits or his usual khaki jacket and riding pants. Since they usually only ever saw each other during meetings or more formal occasions she wondered what he might look like in more casual clothes. Perhaps he always dressed on the formal and fashionable side? She pondered this silently to herself. There was so much she didn't know about her solemn friend. Her eyes discreetly grazed over the small scar just above his right brow. She hadn't even known how he had gotten that scar—it was there for as long as she could remember and was one he had not earned in any war in the last century. Glancing down at the bundle of blooms nestled cozily in her arms she wondered about the tall nation beside her, unknowing that he was doing precisely the same thing about her.

Pleasantly the two toured the park together, admiring the field of tulips—a sea of brightly coloured blossoms as far as the eye could see. Most were planted by section and had tiny labels sticking out of the dirt with the names of each variant of tulip. The neat freak in Netherlands approved of the organization and the wonderful condition of his tulips as he stooped down to inspect and appreciate his favourite flower. He hummed to himself in approval as he stood, "I'm glad to see you're taking good care of my gifts but not surprised, of course" he commented as they continued their tour together.

Madeline smiled, looking truly at ease around the blossoms that surrounded them, "Naturally, I treasure all your gifts, Holland." she gestured to the field of tulips with a fondness in her voice "They're my pride and joy" she said and appeared to have truly meant it too. He didn't doubt her words—the tulips were wonderful. If he didn't know any better he would have thought he was still in his homeland. He was glad that she enjoyed his flowers as much he did and was well pleased that she respected what the significance behind his gifting them to her meant.

"Do many people come to see the tulips?" he asked to avoid any more silence between them. Willem was aware that his sudden talkative mood was out of character. He could make the excuse he asked the question to simply avoid awkwardness or to satisfy his curiosity but in truth he just wanted to hear her speak again. Her sweet voice was so rarely heard and now that he already had her going he wasn't about to let the opportunity to listen to her melodious tones slip through his fingers. He'd also be lying if it wasn't at all in the hopes of seeing her happy; Canada simply glowed whenever someone took notice of her long enough to hold a conversation with her.

She nodded, smiling as she looked around warmly at the countless colourful blooms, "Yeah, a lot," she admitted, "Some travel quite a distance to come here for the festival. It's not hard to imagine why though, they _are_ very beautiful and it is Ottawa's official flower after all."

Netherlands paused a moment, turning to her with a look of mild incredulity (and well-hidden delight), "Is it?" his brows hiked up as he asked, pleasantly surprised by this insight.

She nodded, suddenly a little more bashful than before. "Yes, um..." she hesitated, "it was officiated a couple years ago. I thought it would be appropriate given our history..." she tensed and rephrased suddenly, "Ottawa's history" she gestured around her to clarify she was simply taking about the capital since she feared her words might be mistaken as overly intimate, "and the fact we can boast over a million wonderful Dutch tulips!" she said by way of compliment, one he very easily caught. Netherlands allowed himself a tiny smile and nodded in understanding.

There were a few long moments of silence between the two before she saw fit to continue, "You know, as a nation, I actually don't have an official flower—I use the maple leaf instead. But the tulip..." her pause seemed to stretch out a beat longer than was normal and he took the moment to look at her as she stared down at the bouquet of vibrant blooms in her arms; a gentle smile on her lips. "It quickly became my favourite flower," she murmured fondly. Netherlands watched, captivated and mesmerized by her.

Neither had realized they had come to a stop until Canada looked up to find Netherlands' fiery green gaze fixed on her face. A beat passed and she tore her gaze away, clearing her throat as she began walking once more, picking up the pace and wishing she could stay a step ahead of him if only so he wouldn't notice the sudden flush of colour that stained her cheeks. This wouldn't do for two reasons—one, he was awfully tall and his long legs had no trouble keeping up with her and two, she realized that the action in itself (no matter how flustered she felt) was rude so she forced herself to slow. Netherlands once again fell into step with her. Now back to their leisurely pace and greatly amused by her behaviour, a half smile tugged at his lips as he observed her. Willem was well aware that _she_ was aware that _he_ was aware that _she_ was aware that he was watching. He found that he didn't mind.

Nervously, she picked up the conversation once abandoned, "I guess you could say they grew on me!" she gave a laugh that sounded awkward if not a little forced, "Literally…" she gestured to the vast expanses of Canadian soil sprouting tulips. His smile broadened if only a little and he made a small noise, half hum half snort that was meant to be laughter at the admittedly awkward pun. "So it seems," he murmured, viewing the marvelous blooms with appreciation. The tulips looked exquisite and had no doubt been looked after diligently. He knew personally that the upkeep of so many flowers was no simple chore. It was a painstaking effort that required much love and attention. He was proud to say the least (if not a little smug) that his tulips certainly shined here on Canada's lands. He appreciated how neat and trimmed the gardens were and was contented to see that his gifts were treasured by her and her people. He was _especially_ pleased to know that _his_ national flower quite literally became one of hers as an official flower of the nation's capital.

He breathed a contented sigh, taking in the fresh air and the familiar sights of well-tended gardens. The weather was simply glorious and the sun was bright and warm. It was a truly lovely day in the Canadian capital especially with the nation herself by his side. The sun always shined brighter whenever he saw her it seemed. Though city core was rather small and calm, (not at all like what he had first expected it to be like on his first ever visit) Netherlands found that he quite liked the city and its quaint and easy going atmosphere. There were wonderful museums, tours and some very creative statues and art pieces available to the public. Comparing it to yesterday's trip in the sleepless city of New York was a rather hilarious change of pace. He told her that he thought so and she laughed.

"It is," she agreed easily. "Comparing Toronto to New York would be more accurate although it's still a different beast entirely."

Canada suppressed a shudder as her past experiences in the " _Big Apple_ " rushed to the forefront of her mind; the times she had been to New York almost always seemed like the vacation from hell. She loved the _idea_ of New York City and she wanted to enjoy it (really, she did) but disaster always seemed imminent every time she would pay her brother's favourite city a visit. On every trip she got pushed, yelled at, beeped at and scared half to death by most Americans there. There were times she felt like sobbing and giving up whenever she walked the streets of New York City. Staying curled up on her hotel floor in the fetal position seemed more preferable to braving New York City alone. Trying to cross the streets full of insane drivers when practically invisible to the world was a literal nightmare! Canada had almost got flattened by every vehicle imaginable from garbage trucks to pizza delivery bikes!

However, Netherlands took note of the strangely sour expression she wore. He was overcome by curiosity because of such an unusually disagreeable reaction from the ever pleasant Canada. Curiosity gnawed at him, "You don't like New York City?" he guessed.

Realizing she had been caught making faces she blinked and met his expectant stare before casting her eyes back down to the ground timidly. "Oh no, it's not that. I do enjoy it..." she sounded unsure even to herself.

Netherlands wasn't so convinced, "But?" he pressed, knowing there was more.

She looked up at him once more; unsure. Diverting her attention straight ahead she gently gnawed at her bottom lip as if she was unsure on whether or not she should continue. Netherlands refrained from snorting at her endearingly dubious nature so afraid to offend. "Not to be rude but...well, the people there are _rude_. I mean, not all of course but...but I've been shoved and yelled at and everybody hardly ever says "please" or "thank you" or "excuse me" or "sorry" or even holds the door open for anyone else…" she said, sounding absolutely mortified. Netherlands felt a half smile tug at his lips as he watched her appalled expressions as she spoke. She seemed truly aghast at the idea of people being impolite (or by today's standards "normal") and Willem felt like shaking his head, almost pitying the fact that the wholesome girl was too kind and good for her benefit. It wasn't that the whole world was too bad _per se_ but rather she was far too precious, far too pure and far too good for this world. He doubted she would ever see that.

Though Canada wanted to stop herself from saying anymore she had felt such frustration on the subject for so many years (especially having visited a day previous). Madeline knew she shouldn't say such things, that she shouldn't be talking so much but Netherlands wasn't complaining (if anything he was extremely entertained). She wanted to hold her tongue but all her repressed feelings about the acclaimed city came spilling out from her lips like a dam that had finally burst. "Going there means using American money which sucks because it smells awful and it's not even plastic so it rips easily plus all their bills are so old and tattered! To make matters worse, there are one dollar bills which make everything even more complicated! I hate that they are all the same faded green—why not _colour code_ it? Every time I go to pay for something I struggle at the checkout trying to find the right bills because they all look the same only to get yelled at by more angry New Yorkers. There's so much smog that every time I step into the streets it literally hits me in the face—it feels like walking into a brick wall. All I ever hear there is honking horns and sirens and angry drivers who don't realize that yellow means _slow down_ not _speed up_!" she exclaimed, her fingers tightening fractionally around her bouquet, the crinkling of the plastic wrapping catching Netherlands' attention and drawing his eyes them. "No one ever wants to give you proper directions when you ask for them…" Holland's brows actually hiked up when he saw her eye twitch as as her tone dropped suddenly, "…and people _litter_ there… _all the time_ which is the absolute _worst_ and..." she had to stop herself to take a calming breath then froze when she realized that Netherlands was still indeed beside her and had obviously caught every word she said if his mildly surprised expression revealed anything.

Madeline wished right then that the ground would open up and swallow her. She felt her face (already flushed with anger) turn red with embarrassment when Netherlands looked away. While she was mortified that she actually went on a _rant to_ Netherlands, he on the other hand was impressed not only by her strong opinions but had to turn away only to repress the laugh that threatened to escape his throat.

After a beat of silence Willem used to compose himself he spoke up, "Now, tell me how you really feel." he teased mildly while she only blushed harder; whether from angry or embarrassment he knew not which. With more than a little amusement he wondered if her cheeks could possibly darken any further. What he _did_ know however, was that he was thoroughly entertained. Not only did he find New York City unfavourable for the same reasons but it was downright _hysterical_ to see Canada get so riled up about manners, littering and _pollution_ (as she was quite the environmentalist). On top of all this her contained anger was honestly adorable—she was a kitten roaring and Netherlands couldn't help but find it lovable. In fact, had he been a more sentimental and touchy-feely person (like Spain, the idiot) he might have cuddled her right then and there.

But he was not Spain. There would be no cuddles.

Memories of his time spent at Spain's house suddenly sprang into his mind. He could picture a small Romano who went on snapping and ranting about whatever miniscule thing annoyed him before Spain (the moron) got all soft eyed and wrapped his arms around the small nation in his arms in a big bear hug while he squirmed. Netherlands always wondered how a temper tantrum from the tiny but angry half-nation could inspire such a mushy and loving response (even more so than usual) from the Spaniard. Witnessing Canada's mild eruption of her sweet temper suddenly made the sunny nation's strange behaviour a bit clearer.

Good God, he was beginning to understand Spain—not only that but _empathize_ with him. What was the world coming to? This knowledge opened a bizarre new path he never set foot on before; a winding path with a blinding light of possibility at the end. Being around Canada was walking on dangerous ground indeed.

"Sorry," Madeline muttered, effectively snapping him out of his reverie. "I didn't mean to come off as a Negative Nancy." Her words brought him back to a much safer topic of interest. Admittedly, he felt a sly sort of satisfaction in hearing her unintentionally rip on the Big Apple. Willem shook his head and waved his hand dismissively. "By all means," he snorted, "I'm not surprised my city went downhill since Britain took it from me." This was said lightly but there was a distant air of annoyance in his tone.

She perked up at that, "That's right; Manhattan was yours before Arthur claimed it." As realization dawned about her, she suddenly looked horrified. "Oh, I hope I didn't offend you by saying all those things about New York!"

Netherlands might have laughed at her expression if he wasn't so perplexed by the nature of her needless worry, "Of course not. It's not my city anymore, remember? What happens there is of no consequence to me anymore just as it hasn't been for many, many years." Netherlands didn't like to dwell on the past very much although he would admit that thinking of how that thick-browed _delinquent_ Arthur stormed in and ruined everything he had worked tirelessly to build in the rolling lands always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth. Thinking about Britain stealing away New York and all the work him and his people who migrated there had exuded (since taking credit for things he didn't do seemed to be a habit of Arthur's) still pissed him off. It was for this reason among others that Willem liked to take out his frustrations on the British nation during FIFA World Cup soccer matches (as he did with Spain and many others).

She frowned, "Still, it must have been something precious to you before."

He gave his thin lipped reply, "It was," said he, his tone a strange balance between unaffected and begrudging. Silence passed between the two and they strode a couple of yards when she spoke up again, "Brooklyn."

He turned to send her a questioning glance; one brow arching in a silent urging for her to explain. She paused a moment before saying, "I like Brooklyn best; it's old fashioned and it's quieter. The air is much clearer especially by the Hudson River. There's a lot of history there, too."

He sent her a long side-glance, seeing her looking down quietly at her bouquet. He drank in her subtle beauty and gave a small snort of amusement, shaking his head for no apparent reason he could find. Appreciative of her considerate attitude, he looked straight ahead once more; a small smile playing on his lips. A few more beats passed without a word being spoken before he finally replied, "I enjoy Brooklyn as well."

* * *

All too soon, their time for viewing the tulips ended as the two made their way to Parliament across the bridge from the park. They got a brief reprimanding for walking about so carelessly in town before the ceremony instead of having a chauffeur drive them instead. Canada took the brunt of this mild scolding sheepishly but the subject was quickly dropped as the event was soon to begin. They had a quick reminder of what they were to do and not to do during the duration of the unveiling. The two were to "remain subtle in their duties"; In short, they had to be there to look pretty and keep up appearances more than anything else. Even shorter still, they were need for photo-ops.

"I wish they wouldn't beat around the bush so much—why don't they just say hand back and keep quiet?" Canada mumbled under her breath as she and Netherlands took their positions waiting to greet a few important politicians, delegates and guests.

Netherlands grunted his agreement on their shared sentiment, "It is in my experience that nothing is ever truly out in the open in politics" he muttered flatly; the frank nature of his remark earning a stifled giggle from Canada. Netherlands softened at the sound. Though he kept his gaze straight ahead he allowed himself a tiny smile at the sound of her humour.

"How do you manage to be so straightforward all the time?" Canada asked lightheartedly, laughter and a small hint of genuine curiosity in her tone. He imagined this was so because she was such a quiet person who clearly feared speaking up about her feelings in day to day life where Netherlands had _no_ trouble in the slightest measure when it came to expressing his opinions.

The Dutchman gave a casual shrug, a swift rise and fall from his broad shoulders, "Simple; I'm no politician. I don't need to lie."

Madeline couldn't hold back her laugh this time and it earned her a few odd glances from elected officials and planners passing by. She offered them a sheepish smile and mouthed "sorry" to them. It figured that the one time people noticed her was the result of bad timing.

Meanwhile Netherlands gave a small grin at both her laughter and her embarrassment but his attention was reverted back to his duties once it was announced that Dutch Royalty had arrived. With everyone in place, Princess Margriet had approached to greet the line of officials like the Prime Minster and his family, the Governor General and other important people. At the end of this line, Willem and Madeline stood waiting to greet the sovereign of the Dutch nation. When she approached Canada, both women exchange warm smiles. Madeline, well versed in addressing royalty curtsied elegantly, "Your Royal Highness," she greeted before the two shook hands, "I hope you had a pleasant trip here."

The Crown Princess smiled and gave an elegant nod, "I always do, my dear." Netherlands stood tall with pride knowing that his sovereign was indeed very fond of the Canadian nation. The two got along famously whenever they did meet even if only for more formal affairs. Once the Princess turned to him she smiled fondly at the living embodiment of the land she ruled. "Nederland," she greeted in her native tongue as Netherlands bowed deeply in a swift and practiced motion.

"Your Royal Highness," he bowed his head. On foreign affairs such as this the two would converse in English out of respect for those around them. "I pray you are well," taking her hand he placed a kiss on the back of her gloved hand; his old fashioned habits appearing once more.

She smiled, "Very well, Holland as you know," looking between both Canada and him she said, "Perhaps we will all catch up over the undoubtedly lovely lunch service planned." The two nodded along in agreement before the Princess added, "And as always, Canada dear, you are welcomed to come join me for tea if you are ever in visit my homeland." With a side glance to Willem she continued, "Holland surely should not mind joining us?"

Netherlands hid his surprise at her question (which wasn't really a question coming from royalty) and bowed his head, "Of course."

With that settled, Both nations watched with mild shock as the Princess went about her duties. Canada let out a relieved sigh beside him and Netherlands fought the urge to grin at her subtle nervousness. The unveiling ceremony was kept rather small and intimate and ran smoothly. Most of which was spent sitting quietly on the side lines behind a podium as speakers came and went speaking relaying the history of Netherlands and Canada's relations and of their lasting friendship.

It was astounding how little a nation was allowed to do or say when it came to affairs such as these. Usually they wouldn't be allowed to speak up at all during such a ceremony but given it was a very special anniversary event between the friendship of two nations, Canada was allowed a short and to the point speech just before the statue would be unveiled.

"Madames et Messieurs, il est avec une grande plaisir de présenter le dévoilement de cette statue." Giving pause to reinstate in English, "Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I present the unveiling of this statue," Canada started, weaving in and out of both her official languages confidently, she continued, "It is on this day that we remember the darkest hour in history where amongst ashes and flame a new and immeasurable bond was forged in the midst of this darkness, giving way to new light and a new life ahead. It is today we celebrate 70 years of the Dutch liberation under Nazi occupation and 70 years of friendship. We present to you this statue of Her Royal Highness Crown Princess Juliana and infant daughter Her Royal Highness Princess Margriet as a symbol of the shared history, growth and years of friendship between Canada and Netherlands."

Netherlands watched as Canada spoke, noticing her humility in speaking and her confidence in switching between languages. Images flashed behind his eyes of the war that still haunted his dreams, the death and destruction but also the soft spring breeze on the days spent touring the grounds of the capital viewing vibrant tulips in the warmth of the May sun decade after decade. Willem was captivated by her silent exuberance and her simple but heartfelt words. He was captivated by her and each time he came to realize it, it became a little easier to admit each time.

As it was the statue was unveiled and Canada stepped back, taking her place beside Netherlands. All in attendance applauded the wonderful statue before them. It was well received which came to a relief of many involved in planning and creating both the event and the statue.

"She's lovely isn't she?" Madeline smiled happily, gazing upon the life-like and loving statue of the Dutch monarch and her infant child. Netherlands however, though clapping had his eyes on something much more enticing. Willem looked down at Madeline who beamed at the success of the ceremony. Taking in a deep breath he smiled and murmured, "She is…"

She turned and looked up to meet his gaze and for a moment it was if a current of energy collided between the two. It was that moment when one stares at another feeling some particular way but unaware of its significance. They looked at each other; a gentle brushing of minds joined in a need of understanding, a searching glance.

She was taken aback by his rare smile but returned it with a bashful smile of her own. Netherlands' soft smile seemed to stretch wider if only for a moment before he turned back to the unveiled symbol of their friendship. Canada followed suit and both could feel a gap between them very acutely. Though they have been friends for years they were awfully formal with each other and saw each other only on occasion. They were closer to acquaintances really. There wasn't much either knew about each other and this was the reality of the gap between them. It was a gap that was unbeknownst to them, slowly knitting itself together.

* * *

The day went well and Netherlands was once again pleasantly surprised by the luncheon provided. It was clear that she had (thankfully) inherited Francis' talent in the kitchen more than Arthur's. Most of the talk at their table with the Dutch Royal family and the Prime Minister's family was pleasant if not a little formal but enjoyable nonetheless. Naturally the two nations stuck to their quiet personalities and didn't say much. Willem would be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed. He would have enjoyed a more private and much less stuffy lunch in which he might better enjoy Canada's company especially since he had other business back home that required his prompt attention.

Netherlands sighed as he walked through the door to his home. At the Princess' request and invitation, he accompanied her and her family on their private jet back home that evening. He was quite disappointed that the situation at hand did not permit him to fully enjoy the free day he had with Canada which was so to speak the anniversary of their friendship. Canada herself seemed a little off-put at hearing he had to leave so soon but was unoffended and easily wished him and the royal family a safe trip back home.

Willem stripped himself of his coat and hung it on the coat rack. He dropped his bags in his room and immediately set to unpacking and sorting his very minimal luggage. Riding private flights were always more convenient and enjoyable but the trip still mentally exhausted him. Oh, how he hated sitting for so long! He thought back to the earlier and much more active portions of the afternoon where he viewed the tulips with Madeline. A bit of his fatigue seemed to fade away at the pleasant thought.

Even now he could visualize with perfect clarity the look of delight on her lovely face as she smiled appreciatively at the bouquet of fresh blooms in her arms; the warm sunlight highlighting the golden strands in her fair hair.

He grunted to himself for no particular reason as he unpacked if not just to regain his focus as he tossed clothes into the laundry hamper. Another thing he hated about traveling was packing and unpacking. Granted he was good at it but he was too much of a neat freak to ever not unpack as soon as he came home no matter how ungodly the hour. Clothes that needed washing always seemed to be his only souvenirs from these damn trips.

Souvenirs—that reminded him.

Netherlands ambled into the front of his house and fished the small red book he had purchased earlier that day. His gloved thumb brushed over the gold writing softly before, grunting once more to himself, he stalked back into his room. Tossing the book onto his bed, he went about his business and got ready for bed. Plopping down onto the foot of the bed, he sat sweeping his hand through his damp, freshly washed hair. Repressing the urge to yawn, he rubbed at his tired eyes. More than ready to fall back on the bed and pass out, he turned to climb into bed but stopped once the small book of poetry caught his red. Its enticing red cover and shimmering gold print called to him.

Thrumming his long tapered fingers on his knee, he stared at the book; inwardly he debated on whether he should brave the lack of sleep reading would cost him or if he should just give into temptation. The desire to gain a deeper insight into what made Canada who she was renewed his curiosity which proved too strong to fight.

Tentatively, he reached out for the small book; feeling the pages flip under his fingertips he thumbed through the book. Willem resolved himself to only reading one if only to satisfy his curiosity of what secrets the small book had to offer. He read lovely, nature-based poem which he very much liked and then another and then another. Before long, he had read dozens and dozens of poems in the tiny book; some in French, some in English but all just as humble and enjoyable as the nation the poems came from. So many were nature-based; words filled with tenderness and admiration for the greatness and beauty of a nation. The words seemed to jump from the page with vivid imagery and splendor, breathing magic into themselves.

There were several about the Great War that unsettled him. So grim, so sad but dutiful; he would be fooling himself if he didn't see this reflect on Canada. Even though it was a happy occasion today, she had an air of solemnity about her upon speaking of his liberation. There was a particular expression that graced her features whenever war or conflict was spoken of. The words of her people spoke the feelings she never could it seemed.

Willem came upon a poem (the title of which seemed oddly familiar to him) called In Flanders Fields by Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae. Naturally, being familiar with the Flanders region his curiosity had piqued. His brow furrowed as he read what seemed to be an acclaimed poem.

 _In Flanders fields the poppies blow_

 _Between the crosses, row on row,_

 _That mark our place: and in the sky_

 _The larks still bravely singing fly_

 _Scarce heard amid the guns below._

 _We are the dead: Short days ago,_

 _We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,_

 _Loved and were loved: and now we lie_

 _In Flanders fields!_

 _Take up our quarrel with the foe_

 _To you, from failing hands, we throw_

 _The torch: be yours to hold it high_

 _If ye break faith with us who die,_

 _We shall not sleep, though poppies grow_

 _In Flanders fields_

Netherlands had to place the book down after he finished reading the powerful poem. After a brief moments pause, he read it over again and again and then once more. Willem found himself quite awe inspired by the poem with a title so unassuming but so great. It was grim, it was somber. Fear and mortality filled each line along with a strong and underlying sense of dutiful acceptance of death and what seemed like hell on earth. From the imagery of the free lark above, its songs forgotten and drowned out by the cries and destruction of war became a symbol of humanity lost.

Netherlands knew that people often had trouble comprehending the scale such a war was fought on—especially if they had not been involved. It was easier for one to mourn the death of a single person than it was to mourn a million at once. It was something that Netherlands thought of often. As a nation, he could feel the waves of his men dying in the war so he understood what it was like to mourn so many at once. But this poem spoke of the dead once alive with such an individuality that was devastatingly painful; so much so like his ability to feel his countrymen's deaths. The poem was raw, it was haunting but so, so human. Conceptually, underscoring the frailty of human life and peace but enforcing the strength of duty and the perseverance of the human soul.

Willem was simply in awe for such a piece of art so beautifully written and so rich in meaning. The elegant flow of words seemed to linger in his mind, whispering with the spirits of those who had passed fighting for and against him.

He closed the book and rubbed his eyes. Taking a deep and calming breath, he waited for the images of blood, death and devastation to leave his mind. His heart ached at the memories and his hands threatened to tremble from the irrational fear that he might wake up back in the days of Nazi occupation.

Netherlands knew that the voices of a nation's people were usually connected—chicken or egg, he couldn't remember which came first—so he wondered what such powerful poems of war and ruin could tell him what the wars had done to her mental state of wellbeing.

It was here that a disturbing thought came to mind; what if Canada hadn't fully recovered from the war—what if she was as mentally scarred as he was?

It seemed very plausible. She was so young when she fought in the first and second of the world wars after all. Well, he thought she seemed quite different from her days in the war. He would argue it was the days of her youth but 70 years was hardly a heartbeat in the eyes of a nation and she was still indeed young. She had always been tamer than most but she shone so much brighter then—what was it that changed?

Netherlands sighed, deciding that he couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. Placing the book of poetry aside and switching off his lamp Willem slid into bed. His thoughts slowed and he had trouble focusing on any one thought as sleep closed in around him. His final thoughts before he was pulled into the darkness of unconsciousness were of Canada and her poems of war and death.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 **There we have it! Kind of morbid isn't it?**

* * *

 ** _HISTORY:_**

 **FACT: Military doctor, Lieutenant-Colonel John McCrae wrote the poem "In Flanders Fields" after his very close friend Alexis Helmer was killed by a German artillery shell in the Second Battle of Ypres. Apparently he wrote the poem while staring at his friend's grave surrounded by poppies within twenty minutes on the rearstep of an ambulance in an attempt to compose himself.**

 **The next day Sergeant-Major Cyril Allinson had been there to collect the mail and McCrae wordlessly handed him what would become one of the most renowned works in Canadian history.**

 **Sergeant Allison was quoted:** _**"The (Flanders Fields) poem was an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."**_

 **How awfully tragic.**

* * *

 **I planned to have more of an interaction between them in this chapter but my mind took a creative turn in this story that might better serve the coming plot.**

 ** _I promise the story will lift off and become waaaay more humourous and lighthearted very shortly._**

 **I also love Madeline's little rant.**

 **I had so much fun writing it! To be perfectly honest it was inspired by my four day trip to the Big Apple in grade 11. It was pretty disastrous so most of Maddy's rant comes straight from my heart as a Canadian. It was _not at all_ the fun and fancy free trip I had envisioned all my life but an experience worth having nonetheless I suppose. I hope to visit there more prepared for the concrete jungle that is New York City.**

 **And if I pissed off any New Yorkers out there...welp...**

 **Until next time!**


	6. Epiphany

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:  
**

 ** _DAAAMN,_ WINTER'SROSE! BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE FEELS!  
**

 **(R &R please it makes me happy! ;^;)**

 **WARNINGS:**

 ***This chapter is LOOOOONG**  
 ***This chapter contains violence, course language and intensely dramatic themes. If you don't like it, don't read. You have been warned.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or it's characters. If I did, I would be rich. I am not rich therefore I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

 _Netherlands awoke to the sound of gunfire. His green eyes snapped open in alarm. To his absolute terror, he found himself on the ground, splayed in the crumbling streets of Rotterdam. Smoke billowed from buildings engulfed in flame and shells pelted the earth in a ground shaking rumble. It was just as he remembered it 70 years ago! No, no it couldn't be!_

 _Willem sat up with a start and turned this away and that, taking in the sight of the city laid to waste. Had his entire life after the war been some day dream? A hallucination wrought from the brink of death? How was he standing here? How was he alive? Questions barraged his mind with groundbreaking urgency just as the onslaught of German bombs that shook the very earth beneath his feet. Why couldn't he feel it; the sting of his lands being destroyed? Perhaps he really was dead._

 _Panic seized his heart as he staggered back, stepping away from what appeared to be an imminent reality when he heard her voice._

 _"Willem?"_

 _Netherlands whirled at the sound of his name and the voice which breathed it. Sure enough, Canada stood behind him but something wasn't right. She was clad in her familiar brown uniform but this wasn't the Canada of the future (granted he lived it at all and it wasn't some cruel hallucination on his part), she was young again—about the same age she had been during the war. A spry 18 year old. Even her hair was the same short length it had been 70 years ago with her blonde waves stopping just beneath her shoulders. She wore no glasses either._

 _"Madeline…?" he whispered in confusion, for once dropping the formalities of suffixes but before he could get another word out, she interrupted him with urgency._

 _"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, just as confused as he was if not annoyed._

 _Netherlands was taken aback by her forceful tone so much unlike what he was used to hearing from her. It very suddenly occurred to him that she was not speaking to him as a friend or a nation but as one of her fellow soldiers. There was a no-nonsense air about her that demanded respect and co-operation. He looked around for a moment helplessly._

 _"I don't know," he admitted breathlessly. His eyes slid to her petite figure. Upon closer inspection, he realized she was splattered with blood and muddy earth._

 _"You can't be here!" she exclaimed. It was an order more than anything and Netherlands was shocked by the sudden loss of her timid disposition. Compared to the Canada of the 21st century, this was a change was staggering! There was authority in her voice and a grave seriousness in her eyes that was quite frankly unsettling to see on the Canadian. The fierceness in her eyes was disquieting and hinted at her true age beyond her youthful appearance. It was here that with startling clarity that this wasn't Canada the nation that he was dealing with—this was Canada the_ soldier _._

 _Confidence and power radiated from every aspect of her being; in the way she stood, feet apart and commanding, her chin raised in authority, her eyes hard and serious. In all honesty, Netherlands was at a loss for words by the stark change in character._

 _Netherlands opened his mouth to speak but before he could even get a word out, Canada suddenly stiffened; raising the gun at him. Willem's eyes widened and for a moment, he thought she had planned on shooting him. This was not so however as the bullet rocketed past his shoulder. The sound of a dying groan had the Dutch nation spinning around. Netherlands turned to see a Nazi soldier a couple of feet behind him now dead on the ground; blood pooled from the bullet in his forehead._

 _An icy chill slid down his spine at the familiar presence of violent death; admittedly shaken. Turning his eyes from the macabre scene, he set his gaze back to look at Canada in grim astonishment for the ease of her kill. Willem noted a disturbing lack of emotion in her stare. Her violet eyes remained blank as they fixated on the corpse oozing crimson mere feet away before they flickered back up to meet his much more distressed gaze. The younger nation gave him a hard look before her hand shot out and she grabbed his arm, trying to lead him away from the crumbling edge of the city._

 _"I've told you already, you can't be here!" she repeated, irate disapproval packed into each word. She was clearly in no mood for questions under the pressing circumstances she was facing._

 _"Why not?" he demanded in frustration. He needed answers. He was growing tired of her cryptic remarks and planned on telling her so when a shell hit the earth not twenty feet away. The blast had the two nations crashing back onto the ground. The two looked over at indentation the bomb had left in the streets but Canada was first to recover, scooping up her rifle and climbing to her feet as the sounds of numerous and fast approaching footfalls drew nearer._

 _"A hundred coming this way," she murmured almost manically to herself while Netherlands shakily lifted himself off the ground, still shell-shocked from the blast and still disbelieving that he was experiencing this hell once more. Meanwhile Canada muttered again to herself over the numbers of approaching opposition. "No, more…more," she argued with herself in a way that was concerning._

 _"Where are the others?" he demanded sharply, his tone impatient and frenzied. Though Willem was vaguely aware somewhere deep in his conscious mind that this was a dream, he wasn't any less appalled by the sheer madness of it all. Where in the hell were the other nations let alone her troops? Why weren't the Allies here with her? This was an uphill battle for any army let alone one nation to handle alone!_

 _"No others. There are no others. Britain's orders," she recited mechanically, readying her riffle against her shoulder for the expected waves of enemy soldiers charging closer and closer. "It's just me—only me."_

 _"What do you mean?" he entreated haughtily, desperation making him ill-tempered and anxious._

 _"You need to leave," she said dangerously, her voice low but eerily steady as she sent a dark look at him over her shoulder. "Now!" she ordered just as a few German soldiers turned came into view. Before Netherlands could even open his mouth to argue she raised her rifle and fired several shots with deadly accuracy. She picked off a few soldiers steadily with her firearm while Netherlands remained frozen behind her, uncharacteristically shaking despite his every fiber cursing at himself to remain firm and unafraid if only for Canada's sake._

 _"No! Come with me. You can't win this alone!" He tried to step closer to her but an enemy bullet shot at the ground just between them, enticing the unknown force to rocket him backward a few more paces. Willem back-peddled, stepping away even as his mind screamed for him to grab her and run for the hills while he still could. His body moved of its own accord, backing further away from her despite his wishes to stay by her side._

 _"Go!" she roared; killing a few more soldiers that dared enter the abandoned street._

 _The prospect of Canada roaring orders at him was completely unimaginable on any given day but for reasons he could not fathom nor fight his body responded to her commands and he hastily retreated one foot at a time. An unknown force he could not seem to combat moved him further and further away. Netherlands watched helplessly as a new figure emerged from the shadows of the crumbling city where the two had expected an army. The flames that engulfed buildings and the dying sunlight cast his hideous shadow over the rubble of the streets, stretching across it like some great and ominous blanket of darkness. Cold and all-consuming, it bathed Canada's figure in darkness before it's even nastier owner rounded the corner out into the open._

 _Prussia stepped into the street, red eyes gleaming with a manic luster and his lips turned up in a feral grin. A gun dangled limply in his right hand. Netherlands completely escaped the albino's notice as his dangerous stare locked dangerously onto the beautiful blonde nation before him; crimson eyes twinkling with hellish and sadistic delight._

 _"Hello, Birdie."_

 _Gilbert's smile stretched in a splitting grin full of menace and twisted glee as he raised his pistol and took aim at the young female soldier. In a heartbeat, Netherlands reached out for the blonde nation in hopes of pulling her out of harm's way but the world seemed to melt and bleed around him. Blurring, the world shifted him around him full-circle until he turned and he found himself beside a familiar park bench in Ottawa. Disoriented by the sudden change of scenery Netherlands turned this way and that, searching urgently for Canada, the approaching Prussian and what should have been the obliterated streets of Rotterdam but finding no trace of any of them._

 _Something was definitely not right. Birds chirped, the sun bathed the land with its warm rays and all was calm and quiet. It was just as it had been the day of the statue unveiling. This couldn't be real, could it? He cast another wary glance around from his seat on the bench, skeptical of his surroundings and the strange events that had brought him to this mild and sunny spring day in the Canadian capital._

Netherlands…

 _The Dutch nation tensed at the sound of his whispered name. Looking around skeptically, he searched for the speaker but found only empty air._

Netherlands… _again the disembodied voice spoke to him, whispering in a strange echo that seemed to fill his mind. He stood, his eyes scanning any and all possible directions the voice could have come from but was unable to hear any definitive location. "Where are you?" he asked the phantom voice._

Netherlands! _the voice sounded behind him again, this time with a greater urgency and Netherlands whipped around only to find empty space. However, he heard a gentle thud before him. Turning back, he observed a tiny though familiar red book; Canada's poem book? His brow furrowed as he stooped down to pick up the book. He straightened, gloved hands gently brushing its dusty cover off but stopped mid motion and tensed._

 _Looking up he saw Canada or what should have been Canada. He stepped back in surprise. Before him was a worn and dull version of his dear friend. All her colours seemed to have drained from her. Her porcelain skin was as white as snow if not ashy in pallor. He could see the veins running beneath her skin. Her lips were cracked and as pale as her complexion was sickly. She was shriveled and aged and looked absolutely well…_ grey _._

 _The ashy pallor of her skin wasn't the only aspect of her appearance that was dull; Madeline's long hair once a warm golden blonde was far too pale and washed out, silvery in hue and limp in volume. It hung in front of her eyes. Oh, her eyes. What came as the most disturbing aspect of her appearance were indeed her eyes. In the previous scene of a girl at war, her eyes were alight if not panicked and hard; they burned a stunning amethyst then but now they were a shade of violet so light it looked grey; almost as if she were blind. Not a trace of youthful light was to be found in her pale, hooded eyes as she stared up at him._ _Holland stared at her in disbelief._

 _What had happened to her?_

 _The mild day turned cold around them and their beloved tulips began to whither as did the trees that lined the path. The skies darkened ominously above them and the once pleasant breeze cut through Netherlands with icy claws. Her mouth moved, her lips formed his name again and again even though sound never left her mouth. She looked desperate in that moment, trying to gain his attention as if he wasn't staring seeing her at all. In his disbelief and astonishment, Netherlands could only shake his head in confusion and pity._

 _Then, understanding that he could not hear her, she visibly sagged in defeat. Slowly she took a step back and then another; backing away much like how he had walked away from her at her orders in the previous scene of her. Again, Netherlands shook his head wordlessly. No, she couldn't leave him. Not like this. What would happen to her if she was left on her own?_

 _He found that his voice too seemed to be muted but he reached out for her desperately but as his hand was meant to rest on her shoulder it instead passed right through it. Willem looked up at the nation in confusion and shock. The faded Canada looked at him in despair as she began to vanish in front of his very eyes._

 _Netherlands shook his head fervently, frantic now but sure enough she faded on a whispering wind that appeared to blow away the park of Ottawa along with her. Netherlands spun to find himself once again in the crumbling streets of Rotterdam but this time he was not alone. Immediately he spotted his Canada, the Canada of the present or in this case future. For an instant, he was flooded with relief until he realized that she was not the lone soul in the street._

 _His eyes widened in outrage and horror when he saw Canada brought to her knees and clutching desperately at the hand that forcefully yanked her head back by her long hair. The pained cry that escaped her lips seemed to reverberate in his very soul as Prussia finally took notice of him. Gilbert looked at Willem rather casually if not utterly bored. As if nothing in this scene was particularly out of the ordinary._

 _"Oh, good!" Prussia cheered, perking up at the prospect of another fun toy to play with. "Look who's here, Birdie!" He said with mock-sweetness, giving her hair another harsh yank back; his savage tug eliciting yet another pained cry from her lips._

 _"Let her go!" Netherlands roared, readying himself to charge forward but Prussia held a dangerous looking blade to the battered young nation's throat in a flash._

 _"Ah, ah, ah! Not so fast,_ hero _." Prussia sneered, spitting out the last word out contemptuously in a mocking growl while Canada screamed, crying out in pain as Gilbert pressed the blade deeper into her skin, this time drawing blood which welled and pooled, oozing freely from the tiny nick; a slow and ghastly droplet of crimson sliding down her creamy flesh._

 _Netherlands felt his heart constricting in his chest at the gruesome sight but he forced himself to curb his expression of horror to glare at the Germanic nation. "Enough of this, Prussia!" he commanded, roaring across the gap between them. "_ Leave her be! _"_

 _Willem looked on in mortification at the crumpled and defeated young nation who stared back at him with misty violet eyes. He gaped at her desperately, eyes boring into her as he silently willed her to fight back. He had seen her escape from Prussia's clutches under a similar circumstance before! She had disarmed him of a blade at her throat before, he had seen it! So why? Why didn't she fight back now? Why couldn't she? One look into her fear-filled eyes and he had his answer. Realization dawned upon him, clear and true. This was not the same Canada who freed him all those years ago; her eyes told him that. She wasn't strong enough._

 _Canada wept, tears streaming down her bruised cheeks. "Netherlands, save me!" she begged, her words muffled and unclear by the sobs that wracked her body. Willem very quickly decided that seeing her this way was the hardest thing he had to watch in his life. "Please…please save me, he's going to_ kill _me." Her entire frame shook with her fearful whimpered pleads; in her eyes, a true and unbridled terror of the most heinous kind gleamed in her eyes._

 _Though her words were shaky with tears and fright, muffled and whispered, every word seemed to boom with a painful force in his mind; cutting through his very soul and shaking him to the core. Netherlands' heart shattered in an instant and he turned to Prussia, desperate now. He would do whatever it took to save her. He would lick Prussia's boots if it meant he would set her free. "Please, Prussia. What is it that you want?" he pleaded, throwing his pride to the wind._

 _The albino gave Netherlands' words very little thought before he said, "Answer me a riddle."_

What in God's name?

 _Willem had no idea why he was going along with all this. Why the words left his mouth contradicted the things he felt or the actions he wished to take. Although confused and more than outraged by the nation's reprehensible behaviour and over all despicable deeds, he agreed. His desperate green eyes once more flickered to the blonde nation held captive. She looked at him pleading, begging for him to end her suffering and fear. Madeline's life depended on him and both of them knew it. Such desolation in her eyes made his gut churn in grief and left him devastated._

 _Staring grimly into her violet eyes, he tried to sooth her fear with a look of reassurance; relaying with passionate resignation that she would be safe again whether it meant playing along with Prussia's games and solving riddles or risking his own life for hers._

Wees niet bang, mijn liefste _...the soft and unspoken words echoed in his mind though Prussia smirked condescendingly at the Dutchman, as if he could hear his thoughts and was disgustingly amused._  
 _  
He looked back to Prussia, his eyes hardening. In the blink of an eye, Netherlands slipped back on his impenetrable mask, his poker face. He held Prussia's stare with stony calmness. "Anything," Willem repeated firmly._

 _Netherlands only barely repressed a flinch as Prussia roughly dragged Canada to her feet by her hair once more. Gilbert held the sobbing nation's back against his chest. The Prussian pressed her body flush against his, pressing his cheek firmly to hers. Prussia seemed to languish in the moment, holding Netherlands' gaze and drinking in the sight of the Dutch nation now bristling in fury. Gilbert was dangling her in front of him and they both knew it._

 _"Shh..." Netherlands heard Prussia coo softly to the whimpering nation locked tight in his strong arms, brushing lips gently across her cheek as he turned to whisper poisonous words of false security and tender terms of endearment in his native tongue quietly into her ear. He kept his blazing red eyes locked with Willem's as he_ _condescendingly brushing a strand of golden hair out of Madeline's tear filled eyes._

 _Netherlands' felt unprecedented rage course through his veins as Canada sniveled in his painfully restrictive hold. "Hm..." Prussia clearly took his time, very obviously relishing in his sickeningly close proximity to the pretty young nation. Taking his precious time, as if he had all the time in the world, he pressed Canada closer to himself; tucking his chin in the crook of her neck in a mock-romantic back-hug as if the two were familiar lovers before he spoke, "What runs around a city but never moves?" Gilbert asked slowly, emphasizing each word through his thick accent; a feral smile on his lips._

 _Netherlands didn't need to think on it for long and answered quickly, the words leaving his mouth barely a moment after he had formed the answer in his rage-filled mind. "A wall," he said, his words coming out in a deadly growl._

 _Prussia's impossibly wide grin seemed to stretch even further across his face as he cackled in approval. "Precisely!" he cheered as a glass wall sprung up from the ground behind Netherlands._

 _Willem started at the turn of events and looked up at Prussia in betrayal as he noticed movement to his right and saw the young soldier, past-Canada, standing beyond the glass. She was not alone; America stood behind her, a gun to her temple. Netherlands surged forward to aid Canada but another wall sprung up and blocked the way before he could advance any further._

Netherlands _…came that familiar and weak whisper._

 _The Dutchman spun around to see yet another wall spring from the cracked earth and stone. Behind this glass wall was the mute Canada from the park in Ottawa. He looked on in terror as France stood behind her, bracing a rope around her thin neck._

 _"_ GET AWAY FROM HER! _" he bellowed, ferociously slamming his fist on the glass._ _He could hear his Canada sobbing in the hold of Prussia. And from their direction, a male voice which spoke up though this time, it wasn't Prussia's voice that gloated._

 _"Walls indeed; you and I both know the only thing stopping you from saving dear Canada is the walls you've created."_

 _Netherlands turned with an animosity so unprecedented, he could feel his entire body shaking. "You," he hissed venomously and charged towards Canada's captor, intent on tearing him apart with his bare hands before yet another wall rocketed up from the earth and effectively sealed him away. Looking around helplessly at his glass prison Netherlands growled and slammed violently against the glass._

 _"_ Temper, temper. _" Britain chastised lightly at Netherlands' show of livid animosity; Canada secured tightly in his iron grip._

 _"_ Lay one finger on her, Britain, and I'll kill you myself! _" Netherlands snarled ferociously, his every nerve a live wire and buzzing with white hot rage. His voice reverberated with an ear-splitting ring inside his glass cage_

 _Arthur met Netherlands' gaze calmly, unperturbed by his wrathful fury. "Oh come now, Netherlands; I'm surprised at you! I thought you were better than this! You can come and take her from me right now. I'd allow you to but for you to let a little thing like walls stop you from helping her...well..." he trailed off, cocking his head and giving him a look of comic disapproval. "That's just pathetic."_

 _"Impossible!" Willem snapped, furiously. He was growing tired of this useless chatter. "Shut your mouth and let me out of here!"  
_  
 _Britain seemed genuinely put off. For a moment, his grip relaxed and Canada let out a small grateful sob that his grip was no longer as painful or suffocating. "I say, Netherlands..." he paused then tilted his head back in understanding. Realization and a vague interest coloured his tone; "You really can't get through them...can you?" He gestured vaguely to the walls of the glass box the Dutchman was trapped in with the tilt of chin._

 _Willem let out a truly animalistic growl of rage. "No more riddles! Enough with these games, you bastard,_ let her go! _Or this I swear to God, I will_ rip your heart out! _" Netherlands demanded, slamming his fist against the glass once more; this time so hard that it shook. He had truly lost his temper and was filled with a wild and seething fury that was enough to spur him into madness and merciless violence. This was evident in his violent outburst and in the savagery of his vicious tone._

 _Britain frowned; disturbed by Holland's curious lack of action. With his blade still pressed to Canada's neck, he shook his head dismally. "I'm disappointed. It seems your pride is as strong as your stupidity," Arthur sighed. "Pity, I had such high hopes for you." Then tightening his grip once more on Canada, he turned to the other two nations present and nodded, "Go on, men."_

In Flanders fields the poppies blow  
Between the crosses, row on row,

 _Netherlands turned to see which Canada had spoken it but neither moved their mouths. He could hear each Canada whisper the haunting poem all at once in a chorus of breaths._

That mark our place: and in the sky  
The larks still bravely singing fly…

 _The click of a gun's safety being slid off had Netherlands spinning around only for him to look on in mortification as America (a freakishly large grin on his face) had his gun readied his at the young Canada's temple; one gloved finger putting pressure on the trigger. Willem could feel his heart stop in his chest as he slammed himself into the wall in an attempt to break it._

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

 _"NO!" he screamed behind the glass as America pulled the trigger._

We are the dead: Short days ago,  
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,  
Loved and were loved: and now we lie  
In Flanders fields!

 _Netherlands watched as the whole window of his view had gone black the instant the shot rang through the air. His mind ran on a panicked overload, unable to take in the sight before him. Helplessly, he sought out second hostage. Sure enough, he turned to see France on his left (grinning the same clownish grin America had) as he tightened his grip on the rope he braced around the slender neck of the emotionless mute that was the second Canada. Her grey eyes bored into his as France braced and pulled the rope tight to choke her from behind. As he did, the world beyond the glass wall once again faded to black with an audible shutter. The pattern was obvious and Netherlands turned to see his Canada in the arms of Britain who poised the switchblade at the base of her throat._

Take up our quarrel with the foe  
To you, from failing hands, we throw  
The torch: be yours to hold it high

 _"Wait!" Netherlands begged, "No, no,_ no _!" he chanted desperately as he rammed himself the glass again and again in the foolish hopes that it would shatter against his force but it was useless. The most horrible was this moment. Netherlands looked up as Britain gave one last charming grin and Canada whose eyes showed a crushing hopelessness and understanding. The piteous disappointment shone with the knowledge that he could not save her. With his horrid realization, tears spilled from her eyes as she gave out one last choked sob, "Netherlands…"_

If ye break faith with us who die,  
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

 _The moment stretched into an eternity while Netherlands watched in insurmountable horror as Britain readied himself with his blade._

In Flanders Fields...

 _All sound had been sucked from this scene; a vacuum of deafening silence. The Dutch nation's endless pounding on the glass, the words he could not comprehend behind his own urgency which he screamed at the top of his lungs gave no sound. All was quiet._ _But the world came to a standstill as the last window to the world in front of him turned black and all he could see was his own reflection in the glass before he heard Canada's scream, high and clear, rip through the darkness._

* * *

" _MADELINE!_ " Netherlands bellowed as he jolted awake in his bed.

Willem woke with a start, his breaths shaky and his hands trembling. His wild green eyes searched around his bedroom as he sat bolt upright, scanning every inch of the room before his thundering heartbeats began to slow at the realization that he was having a nightmare.

Drenched in a cold sweat, he ran this shaky hands through his hair; pushing his bangs slicked to his forehead from the sweat back out of his eyes. He leaned forward on his knees, holding his face in his hands. It took about five minutes of steady breathing before the remaining adrenaline left his system only to leave him feeling weaker than a cooked noodle.

Still unsure of reality, he took a few more calming breaths before he lay down once more, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. Good God, what kind of a dream was that? No, not a dream—a nightmare! And a truly nasty one at that! Lately, he could not recall his dreams so well but this one remained fresh and vivid in his mind as if it had actually happened moments ago. His panic rose as he thought of the nation whose fear filled eyes haunted his dreams. With his anxiety sky high, he barely curbed the urge to dial up Canada and see if she was alive and well, thankfully so. The urge seemed ridiculous after drawing in a few deep and calming breaths.

The last dream he had about Canada was the night of their anniversary (of friendship, of course). It was after he read the acclaimed poem Flanders Fields that he dreamt he was back in the war only this time in the trenches. He recalled searching for Canada in miles upon miles of devastated and barren wasteland. Her voice called for him; echoing beyond the smoke and ash seemingly miles away. He called to her endlessly only to be greeted with the endless echo of his own voice in the midst of rolling fog. He never did find her.

This was worse. So much worse. Netherlands' hands trembled awfully. He rubbed them, shaking like a leaf, over his tired eyes. Netherlands slipped into a state of uncertainty, his thoughts shifting to and fro, jumping from scene to scene of his hellish nightmare. He struggled to concentrate on the details of his recollections individually as every instance seemed to flash before his eyes once again in a smattering of jumbled images. Canada...she was there and then she wasn't. She was in Rotterdam and then she wasn't. He struggled to grasp the ever changing dreamscape that for each respective scene had countless twists and turns or discrepancies which made it almost impossible to be certain of.

She was in trouble and someone was hurting her. Who was it—Prussia? No, Britain. Yet his mind flashed with images of France and America that confused him so. It was all too horrible to even think about! The images and feelings of pain, death and fear that seemed so real coursed through his mind in endless circles. It was too much for him to even think about. Willem shook his head, desperate to be rid of them. God, he felt like puking.

Netherlands took a few more minutes to simply lie in bed, desperate to force the grisly images out of his turbulent thoughts. He glanced at his clock and realized he had somewhere to be. The World Conference—already? It seemed like only yesterday he was gifting Canada a tulip in Manhattan during their last world meeting. More than a month had passed since he last saw the young nation in Ottawa. Ottawa...the thought recalled more disturbing images from his dream and he repressed the urge to shudder. Sighing, he brought his mind back to the present. He focused his energies on the meeting to come (one all too soon that he dreaded). He was still quite perturbed at the idea that time had flown so fast. Why, it was the closing days of June already. Lord help him, the meetings were becoming too numerous. It seemed no nation could simply _do_ things on their own anymore without having the whole world holding their hand, professing their agreement. How useless. Given the exhaustion he felt from a restless sleep of haunting nightmares and the ungodly hour, he really did not want to attend though he had little choice. Resigned, the nation brushed his damp and un-styled locks out of his face with a huff.

He did _not_ need this right now.

Netherlands already decided that this could be a truly heinous day. What gave him consolation though was that he would see Canada on at this conference today (luck prevailing). He needed to see for himself that she was alive and well. Though he understood these thoughts were foolish and full of a childish need for comfort and reassurance he couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right. What the problem was, he was hardly sure of. He spared a few moments for to think on any plausible reason Canada would be in danger of any sort. Finding none he figured it was paranoia. Though beyond any rational thought, his heart was still uneasy and no matter how much he thought, logic would not spare it. So instead of resolution and certainty, he was left in bed with damp clothing, a tired mind and a sick feeling in his gut before he set out on his day.

* * *

To the joy and relief of many, this month's world conference was thankfully held in France, which was a hop, skip and a jump away from Netherlands among others. Hell, it was an easy _drive_ away for most of the European nations! Now, Willem wasn't exactly keen on dealing with the Franco nation but if it meant an easy commute that wasn't Britain, he was ecstatic. Paris was especially lovely this time of year as well so Netherlands found he couldn't be quite so disgruntled about it. Belgium would be thrilled, of course. Willem imagined most nations would thrill at the prospect of attending this conference in the ever captivating City of Light. Francis' lands were well loved and appreciated by both man and nation alike (unless you were Britain—then you hated France with to the very core of your soul and no argument could convince you otherwise).

However, there was another nation who was usually never too excited when it came to dealing with anything French (or foreign for that matter). America wasn't exactly as stoked to have this conference in France. He was convinced, of course, that his own hometown was _the_ best place to host any important event, diplomatic or otherwise. In fact, he was quite sour about this conference in totality.

True, France had some pretty decent grub to be had (not that he really knew since the only restaurants he frequented when coming to France were their chain of French McDonald's restaurants) but Alfred hated not going anywhere he couldn't get by in speaking English (or American as he might put it). Why would France have all his signs and writing in French? Like come on, people; English was the natural language of the human race. It was a fact of life. One that no one spare for him (or maybe Britain) seemed to grasp. Alfred shook his head at the truly _deplorable_ thought. Tragic. However, Alfred liked to think that inside every frog was an American trying to get out. The American nation was always _way_ too fidgety for flights—another reason he loathed leaving the country for these conferences. Why couldn't everything be held in America?

This was his general train of thought as he bounced impatiently in his seat, glancing out the airplane window like a hyperactive child. The man really could not stand to sit still, especially after a bottle of coke and three snickers bars. Man, he hated flying! It wasn't even like these commercial flights were allowed to do barrel rolls mid-flight. The everyday humdrum was _way_ too boring for his tastes.

Never one to sulk for too, too long, America entertained himself with notions of what might come his way on this sunny Parisian afternoon. His mood brightened considerably as he figured that there would totally be some hot babes to be seen in Paris. Hurray for hot foreign babes! He thought himself a totally aficionado when it came to the ladies when in reality he had earned himself a couple of slaps before by asking lovely Parisian ladies if the stereotype of their chicks not shaving their underarms were true. America was truly not one for subtly in any regards. Perhaps this was because he thought that his overly energetic and outgoing nature did not seem the tiniest bit out of place and that it was everyone else who was overly stuffy and uptight.

However, the thought of unsuccessful and unpleasant past experiences with women (there were so many) brought him back to one French-speaking woman who he imagined would not be pleased by his attendance. At the thought of the the blonde haired and jade eyed nation, America recalled his most recent encounter with Belgium…

* * *

 _America rubbed his hands together in anticipation, ready to fill his plate with the amazing looking grub the hall had catered in. He eyed a truly rad looking mini philly-steak sandwich that looked like heaven on a bun to him and started there, pilling his plate with however much of the delicious hors d'oeuvres he could carry and thought about how it was a piss that there were no burgers or sliders available when he noticed Belgium beside him. She paid him no heed as she glanced over the array of goodies offered. He watched with interest as she plucked a few white chocolate chip and macadamia nut cookies off the tray and onto her plate and said, "Oh, the W double-C MN cookies," he joked, "Those are wicked good cookies, bro—but the best ones in NYC come from a little bakery shop on 49 West by Rockefeller Center—they're out of this world!" he confided as he gave her a big thumbs up and a wink._

 _Belgium whoever, was not amused by his dopey jokes or his goofy grin and barely spared him a glance before she stuck up her nose and turned her attention back to the pastries and treats available. For a strange moment, Alfred wondered if she hadn't heard him—perhaps she had gone deaf. Was she a mute? After all, what reason would there be for her to ignore him? He watched her a few moments longer as she perused the buffet table. The answer came to him once he saw her eyes halt on a tray of waffles fresh off the griddle. Bella's frown turned even sourer as she made a point of completely avoiding anything near the offending breakfast food._

 _Waffles? Ah,_ waffles!

 _Alfred suddenly remembered an incident were he suggested a dinner that made his favourite waffles (above the Mason Dixon line). The diner was one of his favourite hidden gems outside Jersey. For some reason, Belgium totally seemed to freak out when he told her this. He couldn't for the life of him fathom what she was so mad about—he just wanted to share his honest love of waffles with someone. Some people just couldn't handle his sparkling enthusiasm, he guessed._

 _He never quite understood why she was so offended by his words but he noted that it was the root of the problem now._

 _Side-eying the blonde woman, his brows rose in bemusement as he leaned over and with a wry smile asked, "Still mad about that waffle thing, huh?"_

 _He assumed correctly and that struck a chord within the Belgian nation. Her head whipped around in his direction, shoulder length golden locks swishing as she did. Her green eyes flamed much like her cheeks now flushed with anger and embarrassment for his tactless approach. She balked at him for a moment, wordlessly incensed before she huffily turned on her heels and stomped away making a beeline for France who was eyeing a cappuccino machine warily and immediately lapsed into French, her rushed and impatient words spilling forward from her mouth in an elegant foreign tongue. Grinning at the reaction he got from her, he had to admit that the French language was charming enough to make the simple act of shit talking sound like a most intriguing and beguiling art—or maybe, he ventured, it was just Belgium's lovely voice that made it so._

 _Now, Alfred was often stuck with the label of someone ignorant without any means for culture. He would admit, he wasn't the most knowledgeable person in the world but he was far from stupid despite what people thought. At least on most days, he was._

 _"_ Mon Dieu, aide moi! Cet homme est pompeux! Un idiot sans goût! _" she complained in frustration, "_ Un imbécile arrogant. _" Francis seemed to hide his amusement well enough as his eyes flickered back to Alfred's satisfied smirk. The Frenchman nodded along in agreement as if the two were old gal pals gossiping about "_ that girl _" or in this case "_ that boy _" which happened to be him._

 _Alfred rolled his eyes._ Wow, totally time for a girl talk _, he thought ironically._

 _Feeling his plate had reached maximum munch capacity, he decided he would sit down and mow but paused realizing he didn't have anything to drink which was totally not cool. He saw the amazing stack of frosty coke cans calling his name directly behind where France and Belgium stood idly trash-talking him by the table._

 _For a moment he contemplated leaving without it but the thought of eating a bomb-ass sandwich without some sort of fizzy carbonated goodness to wash it down with was completely out of the question. A dope sandwich like this_

 _deserved a good old can of carbonated bliss and anything less than that was a travesty. So, he approached the table carefully, planning on just standing behind Belgium and quickly making a reach for it while her back was turned but then she spoke again, "'_ Il faut manger pour vivre, et non pas vivre pour manger' _!" she huffed in annoyance while France chuckled._

 _Alfred froze hearing those familiar words. His jaw locked for a moment before an idea came to mind. Casually strolling over, he kept his expression neutral and purposefully reached right in between the two rather rudely to grab his preferred beverage and said all too casually a low voice,_ _"'_ On ne change pas une équipe qui gagne. _'"_

If it ain't broke, don't fix it.

 _He didn't even need to look at her know her jaw dropped but caught France's stunned expression before he whistled, strolling away before popping the tab on his coke can with an experienced motion and took a long fizzy slurp._

Damn, that was good.

* * *

America was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of a sharp _ding_ that rang over the intercom when a muffled and grotesquely pleasant voice spoke, relating that the doors had opened and the passengers were free to exit the aircraft in both French and English. America drummed out an impatient tempo on the seat in front of him as he waited for the irate flyer beside him (one who wasn't appreciative of America loud humming on top of the music blaring through his headphones the whole seven hour flight) to climb out of his seat and let him through. He hummed noisily to himself, bobbing his head to "Living On A Prayer" that blasted through his earphones while peaking up over the seat to see how fast things _weren't_ moving when it came to emptying the cabin of passengers.

Alfred's rapid thoughts briefly wandered back to the blonde cheerful blonde nation who seemed uncharacteristically hostile with him—like she hated his guts or something! Naturally, this was something which seemed incomprehensible to him. Who could hate him? He was the hero! Everybody loved him! Nobody hated the hero. It was preposterous and totally not cool. He was still clueless as to how waffles offended her so greatly. Whatever the reason, it was enough to turn a pleasant and friendly nation into a she-devil where it concerned him.

He had been quite satisfied by both hers and France's reaction to his sly response _en français_. People seemed to forget that he spent a lot of time around France in his youth (particularly in the days of his Revolution). Both the phrase he recognized and the phrase he had tossed back at the Belgian were ones that frequented his life via France's mutterings and musings. Even though both of their shocked reactions should were hilarious to him in the moment, he somehow failed to find them humourous now. What had Belgium so butt-hurt about and what did it have to do with him? Shrugging to himself, the American grabbed his things and pushed through the crowd eagerly, whistling along to the carefree tunes of Bon Jovi as he brushed past other flight patrons (who cursed at his ignorance) without care. As always, he was ready to give Paris hell.

* * *

The exhausted Netherlands had his head down, tucked in the protective nook of his arms on the conference table where blinding sunlight could not offend. His downer mood surrounded him with an unwelcoming aura. Of this, he was glad. No one would dare approach him since if radiated murderous energy. In this system of thought, Netherlands proved to be right. No one even came close to Netherlands' vicinity. However, though no one approached, the image of the ever cool and put-together Netherlands burying his face into the table and avoiding light or noise like a teen suffering from his first hangover was certainly one that caught many a nation's attention. Belgium, in a much more charming mood than she was at the last world conference, waltzed into the room to witness a few nations murmuring impertinently over something unsightly. Pursing her lips, she looked around the small cluster of nations hanging by the door in hopes to catch a glimpse at whatever strange and curious oddity had caught their attentions. One could only imagine her surprise as she expected some ungodly scene only to find her brother in early attendance, his head resting heavily on his arms crossed on the tabletop.

Blinking, Bella made her way over to her older brother, folding her light spring jacket over her arm as she stood over his shoulder. Pursing her lips once more in thought she gave her brother a once over before saying, "A good morning to you, _broeder_." Her tone was indicative enough of irony that Netherlands understood his behaviour had been rendered as strange. Netherland's shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He had been caught. Holland sighed heavily but did not respond. He did however straighten up, leaning back heavily on his chair. His pose was uncharacteristically lax so much unlike his usual ram-rod straight posture.

Belgium correctly took his gesture for the silent not-gonna-answer response that it was. Willem (not one for talking) was a master at non-verbal communication so naturally, Belgium over the years had become an expert interpreter of his strangely silent language. Sighing, she took a seat beside her brooding brother. Folding her jacket over her chair, she brushed a few stray strands of gold that had escaped her headband back out of her face. Netherlands had closed his eyes as he took in a deep breath. She took this moment to better examine her brother. He had bags under his eyes and looked worn and drawn. He looked absolutely peaked. She knew he was never overjoyed to attend international meetings but as of late it he seemed to look more and more exhausted every time he attended each world conference. This worried the ever-gentle Belgium as Netherlands' vivid olive green eyes (darkened by fatigue) opened and immediately turned to her in a guarded side-glance; he had undoubtedly felt her stare the entire time.

Her guess was confirmed as he sighed softly through his nose then focusing his eyes straight ahead he said, "Go on, spit it out. I know you've got something you want to say. Although I warn you, Bella; I am in no mood," he warned mildly.

Bella was quite miffed by his immediate bluntness and ill-temper—not surprised (after all, this was _Netherlands_ she was dealing with) but miffed. He had even used her given name right out the gate, too! Belgium thought that perhaps today was a day that she really should refrain from pestering her already ill-humoured brother by asking the nosy questions he so openly disliked. She mulled that perhaps she shouldn't hassle him today as he was clearly in a very unfavourable mood as it was. He had practically told her that her prodding was ill advised and would not be happily received. Being nosy with him didn't do either of them any favours but she argued that she was not being nosy; she was simply concerned for her brother's wellbeing (though said brother could scarce tell the difference). Like usual, Belgium gave herself this good advice but like all the good advice she gave herself, she very seldom followed it. Thus, she began rattling off the usual inquiries.

"You've been acting strangely lately…is something the matter, _Nederland_?" she asked softly, considering that maybe lapsing into his native tongue might entice him to speak with her.

"Bella," came his stern voice in an impatient warning tone.

Belgium rolled her eyes animatedly and immediately launched into the defensive. "Oh, come on, Willem!" she pleaded irritably, "I'm asking because I'm worried about you! You can't expect me to see you acting this way and say nothing!" But here she was swiftly and promptly cut off by Netherlands' calm although sharp tone.

"That is precisely what I expect you to do."

Belgium literally threw her hands up in exasperation. "Broeder…" she began to protest incredulously.

Netherlands sighed heavily through his nostrils. He had a splitting headache, was fatigued to hell and every nuisance of his body language hinting at the underlying aggravation and slow-burning impatience toiling beneath the surface of his collected expression. Gloved fingers drummed out a steady tattoo against the polished antique conference table as he leaned back heavily into his chair. For once, he prayed that Belgium would just leave him be. He adored his little sister but right now on days like this he seriously regretted not carrying a roll of duct tape with him. A part of him argued that even if he had, it would do him no good—Bella would probably gnaw through any duct tape gag he could make.

" _Godverdomme…_ " he muttered under his breath irritably as he swept a gloved hand through his haphazardly styled locks.

He was getting _way_ too old for this shit.

Belgium fixed him with one of her serious looks—the type she always wore when she tried to seriously interrogate her tight-lipped older brother; particularly when she wanted to drag some secret out of the nation. Lowering her voice once more Bella leaned in to murmur, "Lately you've been in truly awful moods when it comes to these meetings. Last time you look absolutely murderous! It's not a stretch for you but still. You brooded for the whole meeting and the afternoon after it. Care to explain that?" Her tone was far too accusatory and dripped with implication for his liking.

Netherlands inwardly bristled, remembering that the last meeting in Manhattan (the day he gifted Canada with a spectacular bloom) ended without the Dutch nation having the chance to properly speak with the lovely Madeline Williams. Something she had no doubt witnessed.

Netherlands snapped from defensive to offensive with a speed that gave Belgium whiplash as he turned to her with a hard look; " _America_ " was all he said and it was enough to effectively shut her up—at least for a moment.

Belgium's eyes filled with realization and then narrowed into dangerous slits as she scowled at her older brother. She leaned back, with a poorly masked expression, attempting to appear neutral. Netherlands knew she was going to try to play her obvious reaction off as irritation for his own admitted stubbornness and in this Netherlands had her exactly where he wanted her.

"What does he have to do with anything?" she said.

Netherlands graced her with a handsome though dreadfully sarcastic smile, "I don't know, why don't you tell me? _You're_ one to talk about brooding. What were you arguing about with him?" Willem asked seriously. Admittedly, his interest was piqued if only a minuscule amount but if keeping Bella's unwanted questions at bay meant being an intrusive and nosy big brother then so be it.

"We weren't arguing." she countered, coolly; going so far as to examine her nails as she denied any affiliation with the westerner at all. Netherlands raised a brow in mock surprise.

"Really?" he asked, "You seemed rather displeased with him," he pressed, feeling a strange satisfaction in watching his usually cheery sister look so off-balance from his barrage of questions. It was as if her discomfort fueled him to egg her on even further. Hm. Maybe this was why Belgium did this—it was kind of fun.

Belgium turned up her nose at her brother and looked away with what was supposed to be an air of cool indifference. He wondered if she realized how much she looked like France when she did that. Her attempt at apathy just came off as edgy to him and though she would never admit it he knew better. She was a cat on a hot tin roof, alright.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she denied again but just as Belgium said this, the two siblings had their attention drawn to the entrance of the room by an obnoxiously whistled rendition of "Yankee Doodle" as said Yankee Doodle waltzed in the room, hands stuffed into the pockets of his bomber jacket.

The change on Belgium's face was immediate and whatever bright mood she had walked in with this morning (on account of the meeting's location of Paris) instantly evaporated. To make matters worse, America's framed cerulean eyes found hers. Wearing a rather innocently clueless expression, he idly waved to her; never halting in his incessant whistling.

Netherlands glanced at his sister and they both knew that she was stuck. Their game came to a breaking point—one that could very well be in her favour. If she pretended nothing was wrong and waved back to the buffoon she loathed she could win out over her brother's accusations. If she didn't, her brother would be able to prove her wrong. Her dislike for the American obviously won out and she turned her gaze away with a look of sheer annoyance. Meanwhile, Alfred shrugged; apparently unperturbed as he headed straight for the refreshments offered.

Silence passed between the two siblings and in a strange turn of events the two traded tempers. Netherlands' heinous mood clearly improved upon Belgium's discontent as her once good mood plummeted. Said trade of moods had a self-satisfied grin tugging at the corner of Willem's lips while Bella's mouth turned into a sour frown which did not suit her at all. Perhaps this would teach her a lesson about pressing on about questions people are clearly not inclined to answer.

Sensing his eyes on her, silently begging the question of her behaviour she grounded out under her breath, "I _don't_ know what you're _talking_ about," she said stubbornly as he folded her arms across her chest in a failed attempt to cling to whatever dignity she had lost under her charade.

Netherlands resisted the urge to roll his eyes (just barely) before Belgium surprisingly bounced back from her mood, apparently realizing something.

"I forgot, I never asked. How did you enjoy Ottawa? The unveiling went as planned?" she asked, any trace of annoyance had left her tone. She appeared genuinely interested and not at all trying to vengefully back him in a corner with questions he did not feel obligated to answer. The pair of siblings had been busy as of late and hadn't the chance to catch up on the special event quite yet. Netherlands sent her a measured look and (figuring it was safe) repressed a sigh but answered anyway.

"Pleasant, as always. The ceremony went well," he agreed shortly.

A silence passed between the two and it became clear that Belgium was waiting for him to continue. He quirked a brow at her obviously expectancy; _What?_ his eyes seemed to say

Belgium shook her head all to innocently, leaning back into her seat. "Nothing," she said.

Netherlands didn't trust her for a minute and briefly considered questioning her behaviour. With some thoughtful deliberation, he was convinced that he would regret pressing her with questions. He figured that was precisely what she _wanted_ him to do. Hence he refrained from questioning her as this was undoubtedly some sort of cunning trap of hers made only to tease or annoy him further.

Sure enough, once Willem made it clear he would not instigate or further any curiosity; Bella continued what he would have imagined to be obvious baiting if not for the genuine innocence of her question.

"It's just…I haven't seen Canada in a while. I've grown to miss her company. That is to say, I haven't spoken with her quite a while. Was she well?"

Netherlands instantly stiffened at the question; the Dutchman smoothly reaching up to rearrange and smooth out his favourite scarf immediately if only to distract from his sudden rigidness. His eyes hardened as he cast them down to the table in thought.

Vague images, sights and sounds from his previous dreams flashed to the forefront of his overworked mind. A frowned threatened to pull on his lips but as usual he managed to keep his poker face intact.

"Yes, I suppose she did," he answered smoothly then after a brief pause he risked exposing his unease by asking her a question that had arisen with her own inquiry. "Is there any reason she would not be?" This was asked offhandedly, in his usual cool and sardonic style; as if there wasn't any serious purpose or meaning to the question besides the utility of conversation.

If Belgium caught onto his rouse she did not show it but instead shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. "No, I suppose there isn't really."

Netherlands relaxed fractionally, humming to himself softly in thought. He wondered when Canada would arrive.

"I don't know…" Belgium sighed decidedly. "Lately my mind seems out of place." Belgium seemed deep in thought for a moment before she spoke up again once more, uncertainty lacing her tone. "I just feel like I'm forgetting something; like an important date is coming up. I always feel a certain mix of good and bad feelings towards the last days of June towards the first week of July. Am I missing something?"

"If you can't remember then it's probably not all that pressing." Netherlands muttered absentmindedly, eyes on the door.

But Belgium shook her head insistently. "No, no—I'm quite sure it is important," she said waving her hand dismissively before tapping her finger on her full lips in deep thought. Her brows furrowing as she murmured, "Oh this is going to bother me all day!"

Netherlands wasn't even going to bother with a response when he noticed Canada was already on her way to a seat. He froze immediately. She had snuck past his attention yet again! How did she keep doing that lately?

His brow furrowed in confusion but he couldn't think on it for long as Bella (unbeknownst to him had also taken notice to the Canadian nation) perked up beside him with a small sound of surprise and called out cheerfully, "Canada!"

The nation in question blinked her pale violet eyes and turned to look around her uncertainly—as if there was another Canada in the room. But as Belgium waved her over from her seat, Canada took to her invitation and walked over.

"Good morning, Canada!" Belgium greeted cheerily, all sunshine and lollipops at the nation she so adored while Netherlands' mind was still trying to make sense of had he could have possibly missed Canada's entrance when his eyes had been on the door for almost the entirety of his conversation with his sister.

Canada smiled bashfully if not a little awkwardly at the outright sunny greeting but returned it pleasantly. "Good morning, Belgium…" she paused; taking notice of the Dutch nation sat just behind the joyful nation she turned her attention to Willem. "…Netherlands," she said softly in salutation.

Madeline's greeting had all but overshadowed Netherlands' perplexing thoughts and doubts (but by no means put them completely to rest) and he softened fractionally in her presence. "Miss Canada," he replied with the gracious bow of his head.

Belgium, who had been watching the interaction intently, looked between the two nations; green eyes flickering between the two friends' warm greeting. Belgium observed the two with a keen interest. She had always had the inkling that her brother might be sweet on the flowery and delicate nation. Though she could hardly imagine someone as stoic and stingy as her brother tenderly loving another person she observed that he had a fondness for the girl. A fondness, she thought, that surpassed gratitude bestowed upon a saviour or friend.

She was sure Holland suspected her obvious favour of the two whenever they were together. Though she tried to keep it a secret, Belgium longed for the two to engage in a romantic relationship. As of late, the idea became more and more pleasing to her. In fact, Belgium had recently came to the decision to commit wholeheartedly to seeing them together. She knew if her teasing or quiet matchmaking were to ever become too indiscreet, her brother would grow annoyed with her and she didn't want to risk his wrath or even the unlikely possibility that her bothersome cooing would force him away from the Canadian. Although she doubted the latter would happen should he really harbor deep feelings for the blonde, she didn't want to take any risks; she knew all too well of the lengths of her brother's stubborn pride. Nevertheless, she was convinced she could slither her way around the pair without her secret intentions being discovered—because Belgium was _all_ about discretion.

In the space of Belgium's mind, a truly diabolical laugh rang through the deep recesses of her thoughts. However none of it registered on her face. What _did_ was a gentle and unassuming smile; one so innocent that Netherlands quirked up a brow at the angelic display which usually meant trouble for him. Quickly toning it down, Belgium decided to break the silence with easy conversation.

"How are you Canada, _cherie_?" Belgium asked cheerfully, smiling her famous grin.

Netherlands narrowed his eyes ever so slightly at her sister. His gut instincts warned of a brief flicker of mischievous in Belgium's intent though he made no mention of it. However, he did take the time to observe Canada, now absorbed in Belgium's inquiry. What he found there, he did not like.

Canada smiled easily, "I'm fine, thank you. Yourself?"

Netherlands stiffened ever so slightly as his eyes grazed over Canada's features. He couldn't help but think she looked different today. She looked a certain way—something that wasn't quite tired but wasn't quite alert. There was something else he couldn't place. She looked not much different since the last time he saw her and yet…

His attention was drawn back to the conversation at hand as his sister's voice called to him. He seemed to blink for a brief moment in time before quickly catching onto the conversation once more. He realized his sister had mentioned his brief account of the statue unveiling in Ottawa. Knowing they expected a response from him, he went for something safe.

"Hm." he hummed plainly in response.

Belgium rolled her eyes, "Do you see? I can hardly get a proper word out of him. One sentence if not one word responses!"

Canada smiled and nodded along, clearly amused by her friend's quiet disposition. Netherlands turned to stare off into the distance, avoiding his sister's gaze as she turned to him expectantly. He was once again making it crystal clear that he was not going to give her the satisfaction of a proper response. Bella (to her credit) hid her scowl well behind a pout then clicked her tongue in disapproval.

"I really want to know how it went…" she began sulkily but then seemed to brighten up with an idea. "I know! Why don't you sit with me; you can tell me all about it! Maybe then Netherlands will feel the need to join in."

The small huff Netherlands gave by her side seemed to say " _don't count on it_ ".

Canada began to protest, "Are you sure? I mean, I've already grabbed a spot over there…" she trailed off, eyes tracing back to where her belongings sat at an open space. Clearly she didn't want to risk any trouble by moving around or taking up extra seats just to sit and talk before the meeting.

Belgium was delighted by Canada's shyness and over all adorable personality and nodded animatedly; giggling in sheer delight as she gestured to the unoccupied chair beside her. "Of course! Look there's an open seat right—…"

It seemed as Bella turned to look behind her at said seat, it was filled with the figure of non-other than the infamous America who surprised all three by materializing out of nowhere. Alfred had his legs kicked up on the table and seemed to be watching the exchange with interest.

"…here…" Belgium finished as she made direct eye contact with the American as he slurped noisily on a fountain beverage through a straw. As their gazes met, the American briefly halted in his indulgent gulping only to raise a gloved hand in a small and innocent wave—his expression bordering clueless—before his loud slurping started up again.

Silence seemed to stretch out for an immeasurable moment. Canada and Netherlands watched as the two stared at each other in utter silence (spare for the obnoxiously slurping pull of the straw in an almost empty cup). Alfred gulped down his drink while Bella's hand was still extended in a sweeping gesture towards the once empty seat now filled with the Yankee.

Her smile still firmly plastered on her face was nothing short of sweet despite the burning rage in her brilliant green eyes. Another beat passed before Belgium spoke, tight lipped and silently fuming. "What are you doing?" Though her voice was pleasant her words were sharp and clipped.

Alfred met her gaze, looking quite unfazed if not entirely ignorant to her barely contained fury. "Drinkin'," he answered plainly, as though it hadn't been obvious.

"What are you doing in that chair?" she reinstated immediately. Belgium's voice shook at the end of the question, revealing the steady incline of her anger.

America then blinked, resembling a confused child by the nature of her question before obediently answering her once more in the same all too innocent tone, "Sittin'."

Belgium's eye actually twitched then and her jaw ticked. Netherlands noted in amusement that her extended hand clenched into a fist before pulling away. Her fake smile completely dropped and Bella's eyes narrowed dangerously. Her mind seemed to race with a million curses and profanities. Just as she opened her mouth to let loose of them all, Canada turned at the sound of the doors to the room closing, signifying the meeting would begin shortly.

"Um, I better get back to my seat—the meetings starting," she said looking over at the doors worriedly. Belgium turned to Canada ready to protest when Germany had called the meeting to order.

"It was nice talking to you both," Madeline smiled at Belgium who balked, stammering uselessly as she looked back to Alfred with contempt as if this were his fault entirely (which it kind of was). Canada glanced between Belgium who was death glaring America's profile before looking to Netherlands who mirrored her semi-amused if not awkward expression due to the electricity that sparked between Belgium and America whenever their eyes met. She smiled apologetically at Netherlands who nodded in silent acceptance as she hurried back to her seat.

Netherlands watched her go, the wheels and cogs in his head turning with questions he wouldn't ask the nation. There was definitely something off though he could not for the life of him fathom quite what it was yet.

One thing was for certain though—Belgium's behaviour was certainly an reason for concern (though a terribly entertaining one). Netherlands knew she didn't much like the American nation (admittedly along with most of the world) but he wondered if this was still about waffles. It clearly was not.

That was for _damn_ certain, he thought, as his sister's angry aura radiated off her in palpable waves beside him. Though Netherlands wouldn't ask about it, it sure as hell was amusing—intriguing even. However, now that the entertainment had ended, he once again found himself in the familiar position of having his mind plagued with the strange and wonderful creature that was Canada. The answer to a question he couldn't even begin to form of what seemed to be a discrepancy in her appearance he couldn't even begin to place nagged at him. It was impossible to wrap his head around.

With Belgium completely ignoring the American beside her (going so far as to turn away from his direction entirely while shuffling her seat closer to her brother) and America's obnoxiously slurping (in his uncharacteristic choice of seat away from the head of the table) combined unfathomable thoughts about the blonde nation he wondered about so constantly, made for a very unpleasant meeting.

Netherlands wished desperately he could simply bury his face in his arms on the desk once again and block out (quite literally) the very annoying world.

* * *

This meeting was much calmer than the last meeting in New York City though everyone seemed a little antsy in wanting the meeting to be over with. It was likely most attendees either wanted to go straight home or explore the lavish restaurants and boutiques the famous City of Light had to offer. Even Germany to his credit seemed relieved to end this meeting earlier than expected. That being said, the premature conclusion to the conference gave some of the nations in the room the extra time to chat before they either headed out or headed home.

Belgium practically flung herself out of her seat the moment the meeting had been adjourned, almost knocking over her chair in the process. Immediately, she hassled Netherlands to join her in a chat with Canada. To his surprise Belgium was distressed for she could not find Canada and neither could Netherlands.

"Where do you think she went?" Belgium asked absentmindedly as the two siblings looked around the room.

Holland didn't answer but instead surveyed the room sharply, turning towards the door in case she was leaving already. With the intent of looking back to his sister, he turned and saw Canada in her standing in her seat, arranging her belongings. He had just looked there. She wasn't there a moment ago! His furrowed brow and puzzled expression had Belgium following his eyes. She gaped in surprise.

"Oh! There she is." Belgium seemed a bit put off but thought less of it than her brother who wasn't so easily soothed. "Come on!" Bella hurried him to follow her at the conquest of conversation (and no doubt the escape from Alfred). Netherlands was neither in any position to refuse nor did he harbor the desire to. Knowing this, Belgium practically zipped across the room towards the younger nation who was busily organizing her notes. Holland remained in his spot over the suspect circumstances of Canada's momentary absence for a few moments longer before he followed his sister's suite.

Where Belgium was speed walking across the room, Netherlands calmly strode along behind her. His long legs allowed him to keep only a pace behind her. Holland hadn't anything in particular to say to Canada. He was too busy wondering how she had become virtually invisible one moment only to appear the next. He didn't exactly enjoy being the one to start a conversation let alone take part in him but this problem was thankfully relieved by Bella who had no problem in starting up a conversation with anyone, anytime, anywhere. Unless of course, Holland mused, that person was America. Still, it was an advantage. This way he could better observe Canada.

Armed with Bella who could keep a steady conversation with a rock, Netherlands felt at ease; he could delight in (and scrutinize) Canada's presence while enjoying the advantage of saying as little as possible. He found he quite liked this set up.

"Canada!" Belgium called cheerfully, earning her a look of surprise from Madeline who smiled. Hastily, she brushed a stray strand of pale blonde hair out of her eyes from her low bun. Netherlands' eyes narrowed slightly at the sight—her hair, pale blonde…?

Yes, he realized her hair was very pale as was the rest of her. She was fairer than he last saw her; not by a shade or two either. Though her smile was kind, her violet eyes looked much duller today—almost greyish in their undertones. The skin beneath her under eyes was dark and transparent. She looked quite drawn—as if she was recovering from a fainting spell.

"It's a shame that the meeting started sooner than I'd hoped!" Belgium began.

Canada nodded in agreement. "Yes, today's been quite the event," Madeline joked lightly.

Belgium blinked, reminded of her previous dilemma before Canada walked into the room. Event—special occasion…oh why did that seem familiar this coming week? Something about the first week of July was important. Just as Bella opened her mouth to ask if Canada knew why she thought this way, a stern voice called over the nations who never seemed to be paying attention.

"As one last reminder, our next meeting will not take place until mid-July," Germany said it as if it should be obvious, casting an impatient glance to Italy to had no doubt asked him once again when the next meeting would be. Granted, it was the closing days of June and there had been two meetings in a fortnight during May so to Italy's credit it was clearly Germany didn't think it a question not ridiculous enough to totally ignore.

For a moment Belgium pondered if this was the special date she had in mind? No, the meeting was in mid-July, not the first week. So what was it?

"July...?" The three heard Francis (not ten feet away) muse before he and Britain seemed to exchange understanding glances. Francis let out a little gasp as he clapped his hands together in discovery. " _Juillet!_ " the Frenchman cried in realization.

The answer to Belgium's previous query seemed to click in Belgium's mind. Unbeknownst to her, it was an answer that Netherlands' already knew but didn't feel inclined to share should his sister take to teasing him for it. Yes, the upcoming event was Canada's birthday! July 1st! Belgium gaped in surprise at her realization. Why, that was this weekend! Meanwhile Holland's eyes flickered to Canada whose eyes were glued to the Frenchman and the Brit beside him. Her eyes full of hope, daring to dream.

" _My petite's anniversaire_!" France exclaimed in his estranged broken English.

"That's right. Right of the bat in July…" Britain murmured to himself. "I almost forgot," Britain muttered as he looked up in the direction of the group of three. Netherlands saw how Canada had stiffened when Britain added to the unearthing of her upcoming birthday just as her breath hitched now when he looked her way. France followed suite, opening his arms and exclaimed excitedly, " _Venez ici!_ Papa will bake you a cake _très délicieux_!"

Belgium, looking on in confusion at France missed how Canada barely inched forward before America walked up behind the group, passing around them rubbing his neck mock-bashfully.

"Ah, guys you don't have to get me anything for my birthday—although if you didn't, you'd be total A-holes!" the America said, only semi-joking. America was never one to refuse a gift or cake for that matter. "And France, dude, don't call yourself Papa. You're creepy enough without me having to call dateline NBC on you." America grinned as France clapped a hand on his back heartily.

Britain looked at the American with a sour expression—never feeling right about America's Independence Day but he cleared his throat and said, "Yes, I suppose I too could whip up a little something in the kitchen for you."

America made a face. "You really don't have to do that dude. Like, actually—don't do that."

France and America laughed heartily at Britain's expense, raising smiles on the faces of nations passing by. However, not everyone in the room felt this way. Netherlands watched as Canada visibly deflated. Her mouth, once gaping with surprise closed slowly in defeat. Netherlands felt himself go rigid throat at the intensity of her devastated expression. The spark of light which ignited in her eyes with hope was snuffed as just as abruptly as it came. Her violet eyes dulled behind hooded lids in a way that was terrifyingly familiar.

Suddenly, Netherlands' dream, locked away safely in his unconscious mind, burst free; a dam obliterated by the sheer force of magnitude behind the toiling waves of realization, dark imagery and emotion that tore through his mind. Through his eyes, he saw all.

The enigma behind the Canada's change, the stark meaning of his dreams, the nation she had come to be, and the fondness he felt for her seemed to burst open, shattering into a million glistening pieces. For a startling and insurmountable time, it was as if Netherlands retreated completely into his own mind…

There was quite a considerable change in Canada from the girl she used to be to the woman she had become. Her brother whose brilliance was as explosive and as blinding as the searing light of an atomic blast was so unlike her gentle and warm glowing light. In her own respect, she shined so brightly without at all being overwhelming. She was soft and gentle but her glittering rays of light were powerful enough to slice through the endless darkness of the world and all it's cruelties had to offer; where Alfred was a firework, she was a flare. She was a lighthouse beyond the horizon of stormy seas offering safety and sanctuary from the unforgiving swells of the ocean.

Madeline was a mystery in and around herself. Her existence in Willem's life was a lovely paradox, a colourful contradiction. She was so wonderful and strange; as unpredictable as nature itself. A delicate and beautiful rose. No, not a rose for she was too tender, too serene and too tame to bare the thorns of a rose. She was a camellia perhaps so soft and sweet though resilient enough to withstand the harshest conditions of despair. To Willem, no one could match the sheer loveliness of her kind heart and her gentle soul.

Yes, his Madeline was all these things and more yet Willem sensed she was somehow less these days. He knew that wars changed people—perhaps she had risen to all that she needed to be in times of great distress. He knew this to be so but could not help but feel that something was not right—something was very wrong.

In the passing years, he had watched her light grow dimmer, her glow grow colder; she appeared to be withering away right before his very eyes. Of all horrors he could face, this seemed to be the worst. Madeline had always been a shy and bashful girl but she was never fainthearted. With time, she had grown more timid; quieter and meeker. It was if her once very mesmerizing aura was shrinking, growing a little less brilliant every day, a little less magnificent each passing hour and generally disappearing. The change in her was not only in her character but showed in her appearance. He wasn't sure which scared him more. Her bright amethyst eyes that once sparkled so much like the gemstone they resembled seemed a dull violet, her honeyed golden curls hung against her back in loose waves and her porcelain complexion seemed gaunt and unhealthily pale.

It had so slowly progressed over the span of seventy whole years in a way that made it nearly impossible for Netherlands to ever have noticed the change but now with the images from his dreams of the youthful soldier she had once been still fresh in his mind, the truth had been revealed. He was shocked by what seemed like a sudden transformation when it was actually the steady work of 70 years that resulted in her personality's corrosion.

Just now, Netherlands had placed the painfully familiar look in her eyes as one that he had seen in his own eyes over seventy years ago. It was a frightful sight he was met with whenever he would catch a glimpse of himself in the puddles of Rotterdam's demolished streets. He recognized this look as one of utter hopelessness. He had seen it in her eyes just as he had seen it in his, in the shell of a man he saw staring back at him in the reflections of the small and murky pools that filled the ruined streets of his city under German occupation.

It was then that something clicked in his mind and all the pieces of the puzzle he had pondered over for years fell into place to reveal a much larger picture than he imagined, the most disturbing epiphany he could think of. Suddenly, the years of signs, her dull appearance and the deterioration of her character seemed to be in direct correlation with what he had seen from her recently—and that was just it. Netherlands remembered being seriously disturbed when he first made the discovery that not every nation (or person for that matter) could actually see Canada—she was practically invisible to them or remained ignored.

He had been the lone exception. Holland had always been the only person to see Canada, to truly see her. On the rare occasion that the other nations _did_ see her, they never seemed to recognize that she was in fact Canada the _nation_. Netherlands would recognize her right off the bat; he figured this was not only because of the bond they shared as the _liberator_ and the _liberated_ but by the fact that he was always looking for her—the fact that he thought about her enough to _want_ to see her. Netherlands always seemed to even sense when she was around; he had always been that in tune with her ever since they first met.

Holland would always remember her because he never wanted to forget her, because of the passionate affection he felt for her.

This brought him to another glaring problem—lately, he had found Canada slipping past his notice even though he had been fully alert and prepared to see her. Within the span of a month it had happened on several occasions. First, was the meeting in London. Netherlands had been watching one side of the room, closed his eyes for a brief moment and when he opened them she had simply appeared already snug and set up in her seat! The second time was in Manhattan, when Netherlands almost missed Canada walking into the room. Third was in Ottawa were there had been several moments of her presence evading his notice—he had blinked in disbelief when she surprised him in relaying that she had called out to him by name and he hadn't heard her. He hadn't heard her...just like in his dream. By, God it mirrored his dream! He hadn't seen or heard her at first from his spot on the bench in Ottawa! Now once more as he and Belgium looked for her only moments ago. Each time he saw her, it was like he saw her _less_. Yes, the bigger picture was beginning to form now and for what it was, it terrified him.

She was _fading_.

He didn't know how it was possible but it seemed to be so. A part of him argued that it was impossible—she was a young country, stronger than most so it shouldn't have been possible, right? It was then however that his logic revealed a glaring flaw all in the form of Prussia! Prussia's official kingdom hadn't existed for over a century now but yet he still stood as tall and healthy as ever. Netherlands mulled over how it could be so; it was an inconceivable notion! Yet, if there was a more outwardly confident and self-loving nation (obnoxiously so), it was Prussia. He had the longest record of an outgoing nature beyond most every country. He remained because instead of fading in the collapse of his empire, Prussia became the unofficial soul of West Germany after the Great War. He adapted. Prussia was never one for much regret, he was confident in his capabilities and had many acquaintances (to put it generously) who enjoyed or at least tolerated having him around. Prussia had a lust for life and had a near constant cheeky grin plastered on his face.

Prussia seemed to be the exact opposite of Canada and if Prussia's overwhelming willpower kept him and his life essence going strong this far along the line…what affect would a nation without even an inch of self-worth or willpower have upon her essence?

The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced of his own theory.

Yes, if nations were formed by a sheer willpower of land and spirit and other unexplained phenomena that molded them as the creatures they were then it could be very possible that an extreme lack of will to carry on would defeat the entity of Canada and leave only land. It was upon this frightening logic that Netherlands came to the conclusion that Canada was well and truly in danger of herself.

His thoughts raced at a thousand miles a minute as he tried to fathom just what emptiness the girl must have been feeling to have let herself fall so far already.

Anger ignited; red hot and boiling in his chest although he wasn't sure who his anger was directed at—Canada for her lack of will, who or whatever might have gotten her feeling this way, and even himself—especially himself. Willem directed his fury towards himself for not discovering this gigantic dilemma sooner, which now seemed as plain as day to him, for not being around for her like he should have been, for being too selfish and absorbed in his own affairs, for being a coward not to have requested upon her presence as he so often wished to do for the sake of his stubborn, foolish pride and of his isolated character, for the sake of keeping a strictly international relationship.

His thoughts seemed to have already stretched out an eternity when he was met with the sight of her pained expression. As if this momentous discovery hadn't been earth shattering enough, another stark realization came to light. In that moment, every faucet of his being seemed to fade into the background; his pride, his stubbornness, his isolation, his fears—the things that once seemed very important to him—all took a back seat to one very startling truth...

There was nothing more in this entire world he feared more than the prospect of Canada hurting. Nothing left him more terrified than the idea of her fading away. The mere thought of a world without Canada...no a life— _his life_ —without Canada seemed too much to bear. No, he wouldn't have it. It was too much—even the _possibility_ that she might one day fade away and leave him behind left him breathless and stricken with grief. He hadn't even had the chance to—no! No, she couldn't fade away—not like this! Not without her knowing...

No. Netherlands steeled himself; his thoughts, his decision had been final.

"Canada, I understand your birthday is coming up as well." Canada's violet eyes tore away from her so-called "family" and settled back onto him with more than a little surprise. "Would you do us the honour of spending this weekend with us?"

He could feel both the innate surprise of both Belgium (who turned to look at him with a look of hardly contained surprise by his side) and Canada who seemed completely bulldozed by the unexpected question. A beat passed as she attempted to recover.

"I-I…um…" Canada stuttered, at a complete loss for words. The weight of Netherlands' uncharacteristic invitation was not lost on her. Clearly struggling for a few moments longer, she looked between the two in disbelief. "Really?"

Netherlands responded immediately. "Absolutely, it would be our pleasure."

At this this, Bella picked up the subtle cue from her brother and jumped in. "O-of course!" The Belgian laughed a little nervously, still reeling from her brother's truly astonishing proposal. "Of course," she repeated sounding surer of herself and therefore more inviting and genuinely agreeable. "It will be a lot of fun!" Belgium smiled warmly, her tone reassuring and insistent.

Canada balked for a moment longer, looking back to Holland once more. "I um…s-sure," she muttered unintelligently, still completely dumbfounded.

Netherlands managed a stony smile, reminding himself not to look so stern and serious (which seemed impossible given the weight of his theory-turned-discovery) lest he look regretful or halfhearted in his invitation though this was the complete opposite—he was never more fervent about a request for company in his life. Given his mood, he figured he should not have been able to enjoy the delighted pink flush growing on her cheeks. He really shouldn't have but as Belgium prattled on in excitement for the would-be weekend of fun and Canada's eyes lit up in a way he hadn't seen in an unbearable stretch of time, Netherlands couldn't deny the small rush of joy that welled up inside his chest.

He offered a smile as the two (more appropriately Bella) chatted idly though inside his mind was set and grim. He was determined now and nothing would stand in his way. His jaw set and he decided then that it was Canada who needed to be saved and this time, he would be the one doing the saving. He would not lose Canada by any means. He would not. Netherlands would save her.

His soul be damned.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 ** _HOLY SHIT, THE PLOT THICKENS!_ *over the top demonic laughter***

 **Wow, that was actually the most dramatic chapter so far, if I do say so myself (and that's saying something...yeesh)!**

* * *

 **Translations:**

 **I'll keep this simple in a loose translation:**

 **FRENCH:  
*Cherie = Dear(est)  
* Juillet = July  
*"My petite's anniversaire = (broken French/English) my little one's birthday  
*Venez ici! = come here!  
*Très délicieux = very delicious**

 ***Belgium's rant about Alfred: _"God help me! This man is pompous! A tasteless idiot! [...] An arrogant imbecile!"  
_** **Along with the phrase in regards to Alfred's gluttonous nature ( _"Il faut manger pour vivre, et non pas vivre pour manger"_ ) is essentially _"We eat to live, not live to eat!"_**

 **(Damn, Belgium is savage)**

 ***The French phrase that Alfred throws back at Bella ( _"On ne change pas une équipe qui gagne." ) _translates to _" A winning team is not changed"_. The English equivalent to this phrase is essentially, _"If it ain't broke, don't fix it."_** **Alfred answering back in French alone was a bold move but tossing back this phrase at Belgium was practically a way to say "I like it (indulgence) that way" which was basically a blatant "piss off and mind your business".**

 ** _Daaaaamn, Alfred. Back at it again with the clapbacks (sorry, that vine got to me)._**

* * *

 **DUTCH:  
*Broeder = brother  
*Godverdomme = God damn me. (my ultimate favourite translation)  
*When Netherlands says, _"Wees niet bang, mijn liefste..."_ it is meant to be _"Do not fear, my dear(est)" [aw]_**

* * *

 **I would appreciate if anyone who speaks any of the languages brought up in this story (besides English, dears) would keep an eye out for mistakes and let me know the proper words, or phrasing. Thank you!**

 **Until next time, dears!**


	7. Aftershock

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**

 **BACKSTREET'S BACK—ALRIGHT!**

 **(please don't hurt me)**

 **I planned to have this up by Canada Day (July 1st) but I wasn't happy with what I had written so I scrapped it and started over.**

 **(HAPPY BELATED 149th BIRTHDAY TO CANADA! WHOO. I celebrated watching fireworks)**

 **Sorry that this update took so very long but writer's block is a terrible curse...that and summer makes me even more lazy than I already am.**

 **Forgive me. I know this took so long to write but I honestly was so unsure of how to write the next few chapters but I think I've got it now!**

 **HUGE thanks to everyone who reviewed! _I actually cried reading your reviews._ They were so sweet and I plan to finally reply to them all, soon!**

 ****BY THE WAY, to all my foreign readers who take the time to review in a language that is not your native tongue, you are literally golden. I love you all so much and your English it fantastic! You all seem to write me worrying that your English is not good enough but if you hadn't told me that English was not your first language I promise you I would not have guessed! You are all so amazing!**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia.**

 **I'd like to thank all of you who have read, reviewed, followed or added this fic to your favourites! You inspire me to keep writing!**

 **Please enjoy! And as always R &R!**

* * *

Willem was suffering from a colossal headache. By the time he got home it was as if a slab of concrete had dropped straight onto his head—or one of Arthur's scones for that matter. Bella had insisted that Canada join them for lunch. It was this bright idea that prevented him from immediately setting out for home for some much time to breathe. Unable to do so, the situation set him on edge and left him eager to leave. Though the two women seemed to be enjoying themselves along the Paris strip, Netherlands hadn't been able to focus on their outing for more than a minute before his mind drifted back to the idea that Canada was in danger of vanishing off the face of the earth. His tense silence, his distance and his inability to keep his focus on their conversations for more than ten seconds at a time earned him many a scolding from Bella to which he answered with a deadly look only one sibling to another could decode; the foreboding message in his eyes seeming to say, _"wait until Canada leaves..."._

He was certain Canada sensed his urgency to leave; this he sorely regretted but to his credit, he had put in his most sincere efforts to keep a tolerable mood but try as he may every time he looked upon Canada's pale visage his nightmares seemed to resurface with startling vividness. His face would take on a stony look every time he considered what might happen to the meek Canadian nation if her condition worsened. At one point, a simple cough from Madeline had Willem feeling as if he was about to have a heart attack. His irrational fears, like a mother momentarily loosing sight of a reckless child, dissipated once he realized that what seemed to be a symptom of her untimely doom was in fact the result of her drinking a cold drink a little too fast. Netherlands felt both relief and foolishness in equal measure. It became clear to Netherlands that he would not be able to relax any time soon.

After the little coughing fiasco (if it could be called that since she had only cleared her throat once), Netherlands' need to get back home increased tenfold. If his theories about Canada's recent decline throughout the years were correct, he had a lot of thinking to do and to think clearly, he needed to be alone and the sooner he could begin forming some sort of tactic to aid Canada the better. Netherlands found he could never quite focus on any one thing while Canada was around; she always had a way of stealing his attention. Although, to Bella's credit, her constant cheerful babbling was enough to distract just about anybody.

Thankfully, their Parisian escapades had eventually come to an end and the anxious Dutch nation was finally allowed to breathe again. But of course, it was never that easy with Belgium hanging around. He knew that her probing questions would begin no sooner than Canada entered her cab bound to the airport and had no doubt that her new favourite subject would be Netherlands' out of character decision to invite Canada over for her birthday (which he had, to her credit, roped her into without so much as a word of warning). However, he decided to nip her inquires in the bud and with only a truly terrifying murmured threat in Dutch to his sister, Holland managed to make it home without too much trouble.

Now it wasn't that Netherlands regretted his decision to offer up his time and company to Canada on her upcoming birthday. No, of course not. On the contrary, he was quite looking forward to seeing her on less formal terms (if not a little dubious of how the experience should pan out). However, what he did in fact regret was his uncharacteristic brashness in asking Canada so suddenly in front of Belgium of all people. It wasn't even Canada's birthday yet but if the hawk-like look in Belgium's eyes were any indication, he would be paying for this grievous mistake shortly.

Now alone and safe from the gossip demon wrapped in sweetness that was his sister, Netherlands was left to ponder what felt was a rather explosive reaction to what he deemed Canada's dilemma.

Netherlands was a very clever man with a rapier wit. He was uncommonly crafty and extraordinarily cunning with a keen awareness of his surroundings. He was a man who had a very impressive grasp on the world he lived. He not only had a firm grip on his own character and the inner workings of his mind but the minds of others as well. He knew his strengths and his weaknesses, his qualities and faults, his victories and his follies. Being a man skilled at adapting and evolving for his own survival, he embraced his faults without shame for he knew that self-awareness was a great benefit to a man of considerable consequence such as himself. Over the years, he had seen many men from all walks of life; regardless of whether they were powerful, poor, foolish or brave their prideful denials of weakness had led to the imminent downfall of each and every one. Ironically enough, not accepting their weaknesses had been their source of ruin but Netherlands of course was no regular man. He was self aware and worked around his weaknesses instead of simply avoiding them.

He was very level-headed—perhaps a little too much so (at least, that's what Bella often told him). Despite his stubbornness he was incredibly honest with himself and rarely ever oblivious to his feelings. He gave his opinions freely and without apology and was rarely ever left second guessing himself. He was a man of complete confidence, well above lying to himself for the benefit of his ego. This was simply because denying himself any truth of self discovery or knowledge would only prove to be roadblocks to success and stability. There was no use in living in a fantasy world when all there really was to be had was reality. Daydreaming didn't put food on the table nor did it ensure the safety or well being of his people; hard work and a good dose of realism did that.

He was all about practicality, efficiency and organization. He supposed that his Germanic roots ran deeper than he would ever care to admit since he demanded control and order in essentially all aspects of his life. Willem didn't very much care for surprises—especially when said surprise was of his own design and in this case of his own behaviour. He knew his sporadic changes in character were in direct correlation with Canada's presence and that his most recent shift in nature had been borne from the staggering feelings of disquiet he harboured over Canada's well being. This he knew very well yet it was precisely this intense reaction that confused him.

His feelings ran deeper than simple concern for an ally, ran deeper than even perhaps a friend.

As for where his feelings for her left him remained a mystery. Such a strong emotional attachment to her surpassed that of an ally he was indebted to and it certainly surpassed that of a fellow nation. He figured that such feelings must be attributed the strong ties of devotion one has to a friend but somehow even that explanation did not sit well with him; it seemed a half formed notion in and of itself. No, the care one felt for a friend seemed to dull and passionless to describe the ardent affections he held for her. So what was it that he felt for her? No one woman should hold such power of a man unless...they were lovers?

...This thought however, as ridiculous as it might have seemed to him, gave the Dutch nation pause.

There he stood, in the threshold of his bedroom; frozen in thought. It was such a ridiculous notion indeed! The thought that his fondness for the girl could be adoration or perhaps even...love? Now, _that_ was a four letter word to the Dutchman; _love._

No.

Netherlands almost laughed aloud at himself. Of all the foolish ideas; _love_. Ha! He chuckled to himself as he stepped into his bedroom, shaking his head at his own stupidity. Him, Netherlands, in _love_? This time, he did laugh aloud and the (slightly erratic) sound echoed through the quiet of his house. Yes, it was quite hilarious to him—endlessly so in fact. That is to say it _was_ until he spotted a very familiar red leather bound book sat cozily on his nightstand. It was Canada's poem book and it stopped his little laughing fit dead. Any humour he held at the idea of holding romantic feelings for Canada had immediately dissipated.

No...he couldn't possibly be considering...

The Dutchman's mind now sobered from its bout of humour grew sour at the thought. His jaw ticked with a restless agitation he couldn't quite attribute to any one person but himself. Netherlands' thoughts grew callous and aggressive with such an acute frustration that had him clenching his fists in a white knuckle grip. He paced restlessly, huffing to himself; his mind racing and thoughts seething like the hiss of a crackling flame. Of all the stupid...

Netherlands growled, yanking the scarf from his neck and tossed it onto the bed with more force than necessary (very nearly choking himself in the process); his leather gloves shortly followed, thrown onto the bed with brutish frustration. Storming into the bathroom, he undressed rather violently and flung his clothing into the hamper impatiently. Then stepping into the shower, he was content to simply simmer with a scoff of self annoyance.

The fact that he had simply entertained the thought at all was utterly ludicrous—laughable even! Though to him, there was nothing funny about it. It was confusingly silly. The sheer lunacy of a notion rendered him utterly dumbfounded—Hell, the fact that he dumbfounded _alone_ concerned him! This was so very unlike him. How foolish.

Of the many centuries he had been alive, love had never been a problem in his life—yes, that's what he classified love as; nothing more than a silly problem. He felt love for his homeland, his sister (infuriating as she was), and naturally his people but romantic love had always seemed...well, undesirable to him. Sure, love was a great and wonderful thing or whatever but...not for _him_. Love made fools of everyone, love made everyone doe eyed and annoyingly optimistic. It was probably by he loathed Spain so. He was a perfect example of what someone head over heels in love looked like; cheerful, sunny, happy, sappy, cuddly—it was all so sickening to him. It quite literally made him cringe; it just wasn't for him. Perhaps Netherlands could forgive the man if he _was_ in love but the idiot just always seemed to be in a constant adoring state! Whether he was in love with any one person was debatable simply because he loved everybody! He didn't even want to start thinking about France and his obsession with _l'amour_ and all things amorous and beautiful. Yes, Francis' endless love babble annoyed him to no end and though he hated to admit it, Netherlands knew a great many wonderful love stories came from France.

Netherlands clearly was not the lovey-dovey type nor was he the touchy-feely type. The kind of mushy love he heard about seemed unrealistic and god awfully sappy. The clichéd adaptations of love and romance by modern standards seemed very unrealistic; romanticized tales where _sensibility_ ruled over _sense._ Being the realist he was, this fantasy world did nothing to entice him. Though the precious few love stories he could tolerate often originated in France. The Phantom of the Opera, Les Misérables, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, Beauty and the Beast; of all these stories only one had a truly happy ending. Each story telling of unrequited and unconditional love; love that did not judge on appearance, love that was self sacrificing and painful—love that often ended in tragedy. Love was not all champagne and caviar. Yes, these were tales of love that ran deeper than any silly romance could sustain. It was a little known fact that such relationships failed because of one simple misunderstanding; a fatal flaw so to speak. What most couples had was romance not love...and romance _always_ faded. But of these stories those he tolerated were love stories...not romances.

The unconditional and tragically beautiful love that he read about for centuries belonged in poetry and storybooks too larger than life, to exuberant and unpractical to exist in the real world. For who had a heart big enough to contain such wondrous emotion? Beyond his own leisurely entertainment, love was not for him. Dramatic tales of passion and selfless love seemed all fine and dandy when others were in love but for him it seemed so... _unreasonable_. Of course, he was still a man with carnal needs of his own but beyond that love simply didn't appeal to him because he thought he wasn't fit for love. Love was patient and love was kind but he was neither. Love was selfless and love was blind and he was neither. The idea of such feelings existing in a self serving creature like himself was truly unfathomable. He figured then if he was caught up in love, it couldn't be real' it had to be a simple romance because he would never be any of the good and wholesome things that love required him to be. It never gave him grief however. He was utterly indifferent. In fact, he was relieved he hadn't been in love. Apparently, love was very distracting and had the rather "magical" tendency to change people and he was content with the way he was, _thank you very much_. Besides, he had functioned just fine for almost a millennia without romance so really, it just seemed an unnecessary hassle. He was content with his life so why fix what wasn't broken?

Hence, Netherlands decided it was simply impossible since he was decidedly unsuitable for love; plus his utter lack of personal interest in the matter made it abundantly clear that he was in no danger of ever falling victim to one of cupid's deadly arrows. It came as a relief to him since he had no desire whatsoever to be the unhappy receiver of such a curse. Ha. How ridiculous he had been! Love was all powerful, said to change people often for the better. Yet Netherlands remained an unsociable bastard just the same! Willem chastised himself for even entertaining such an idea. He was a very sensible man. He would believe himself in love if he thought himself capable but all evidence seemed to point to the negative. The thought of him becoming the perfect specimen of a gentleman in love was like seeing a dog walking on it's hind legs. Of all the impossible ideas. Why, next he'd learn that Germany had a thing for Italy!

Ah, yes. Netherlands was just as unfit for love and relationships as he had always been. If he were even capable of such sappiness he would pity the woman who had to put up with him! After all, he wasn't especially chivalrous to any one person (aside from Canada), he wasn't very kind or accommodating either (except for Canada) and he only thought of himself and his own happiness...that is...spare for Canada's, of course.

Netherlands' green eyes opened slowly, peering down at the shower drain. His blonde hair hung thick in his eyes, dripping cool droplets down to the pool of water and soap suds swirling at his feet and circling down the drainpipe with a quiet gurgling hum. Netherlands was no fool and the brutal honesty he prided himself on seemed to whisper that he was denying a very simple truth. Willem was a stubborn man; one of pride and ego. He trusted logic over emotion but what did he do when his logic spoke to his emotions?

Hm. Interesting.

Love was giving one's entire self to another, selflessly and without thought. This was something he thought himself incapable of yet, he would do anything to save Canada. Even his pride took a backseat to Canada and his desire to see her happy. There seemed no price to steep to make her joy a reality. An inexplicable joy and fondness filled him whenever the younger nation smiled up at him, all sincerity and kindness. Suddenly, it became easier to imagine doing just about anything to see her smile at him that way...

...With that thought, Netherlands decided that it was time to get out of the shower.

Willem decided that this topic was (all annoyance aside) quite intriguing and might be worth more thought but he would give the subject the attention it deserved at a later time; he was after all utterly exhausted. His mind couldn't function very well on such low levels of energy, now could it? Heaving a great sigh, he ran his hands over his tired face and up through his soaked locks. For a moment simply stood bare beneath the tepid cascade of water above him. The seconds ticked by in silence, his mind muted and blank. It was strangely wonderful how a few moments of silence could put things into perspective. The hush that fell over his mind seemed a blessing after the last few weeks of inward stress and unrest. Shutting off the water, Netherlands stepped out of the shower and dried himself off with a fresh towel. He did this slower than usual as his mind was filled with a quiet deliberation on how to go about the situation at hand. As far as he was concerned, he had thrown himself onto foreign grounds alien to him.

He vaguely wondered if he was losing his mind. His every thought disorganized and jumbled contradicting the other. His emotions were running high which was completely unimaginable to him. He was slipping he felt. All else aside, what it all boiled down to was his distress for Canada's well being. For whatever reason, the thought of Canada being in danger of vanishing completely, the idea of her hurting seemed too much to bear. His chest seemed to tighten uncomfortably at the thought; an emotional reaction he hadn't quite every felt before for any one person. When the realization had struck him the only instance that could compare to the panic, fear and dread that washed over him had been back in the days of the war; such unbridled dread in a way he had not felt since the day Germany's forces invaded Rotterdam. Any irregular bouts of emotion or strange behaviour as of late seemed to circle back to Canada. Netherlands brushed this off as a lethal mix of stress and a lack of sleep.

Strolling back into his bedroom, a towel wrapped firmly around his hips while he ran another through his slick locks. Though his anger dissipated, he fell back into his perpetual state of annoyance quite easily as he sat on the edge of his neatly made bed; leaning his forearms on his thighs were his fingers drummed anxiously. He did not like this. Not one little bit. He flipped his lock and damp hair out of his eyes with a grunt of irritation. His dislike of the feel of hair in his eyes was partially the reason why he always styled his hair so meticulously—not to mention he liked the subtle air of intimidation it gave him. He felt that letting his hair fall naturally over his eyes made him look too boyish where his styled do fully exposed his piercing green eyes and his old battle scar above his stern brow; it showcased his sharp and masculine features very nicely. He looked much more stylish albeit unapproachable which was what Netherlands liked most; he liked a otherworldly and vaguely threatening look. Though to be fair, Netherlands could remain just as terrifying with his hair down should the need arise.

It was then, flicking the hair out of his eyes, did he notice the familiar poem book on his bedside table once more; he had been reading them once again since he enjoyed them so. Poems and sonnets, all of them seemed to whisper faintly to him; their words calling to him in soft and gentle murmurs. Haunting fragments of the famous poem "Flanders Fields" was among the ghostly chorus of literary works. It's familiar lines recalling vivid images from his most recent nightmare, shifting to Canada's pale face at the day's conference and his epiphany therein. His thoughts had come full circle and he was once more left to wonder what on earth he was supposed to do.

Willem closed his eyes, exhaled through his nose and recalled the look on Madeline's face as he had offered up his company to her for her birthday. Her violet eyes lit up with disbelief and more importantly hope; shinning a deeper and more familiar amethyst for ever so short a moment with a slow growing look of excitement as Bella poured over the special day to come. Netherlands hadn't realized he had been smiling until his face gave way for a frown. What on earth had gotten into him, smiling like a fool? Netherlands made a short sound of self disgust and frustration; hastily rising to dress himself, cursing liberally as he did.

Of course he believed his theory on Canada's concerning state of being held some weight and of course he wanted to help her. God, he had been waiting for such an opportunity to repay his debt to her. He wanted nothing more than to repay her even the smallest amount of kindness he could for the gift of his life which he owed her. It was her turn to be saved and yet his frustrations ran deeper and deeper still simply because he was at a loss for what he could possibly do accomplish such an incredible feat! How did one possibly keep a nation from fading? The idea of a country vanishing in such a way was mostly unheard of. Perhaps one case that might have been remotely similar might have been the case of the Roman Empire.

Netherlands felt a chill creep up his spine.

The fall of Rome was something most nations didn't speak of. It was an unspoken rule never to bring up such a topic of the fallen. Rome was perhaps the strongest of them all yet he had disappeared without a trace; there and gone like morning fog. Most everyone was convinced that the powerful empire had been dead and gone for over a millennia while a very few others questioned whether he had really succumb to defeat. It seemed so unlikely to those who knew the Roman nation best but even the few closest to him that remained were skeptical. As for himself, Netherlands would not have been entirely so surprised that the ever sly Rome had slithered his way out of certain death and had gone into hiding off the grid. He had always been a crafty bastard that was for sure. Just like his grandsons, Rome was much more intelligent and resourceful than he let on to most. Netherlands himself had known the eldest of the Italian brothers, Romano, very well for many years and in his golden eyes he could see spark in his eyes, an underlying strength that burned just beneath the surface. Netherlands prided himself on reading people and he knew better than most that Romano was much smarter than anyone ever gave him credit for. He liked that about Romano. He was extremely intelligent with a keen eye for detail but was very good at keeping people guessing how much he really knew.

With this train of thought an idea had sparked in Netherlands' mind. Perhaps Romano had some sort of knowledge on the subject—after all, he was one of the few who had actual ties with the great Rome and if Rome's situation shared any similarities with Canada's dilemma, perhaps he could learn how to prevent Canada's state from worsening (and if he was lucky, reverse it entirely). He mulled over this; it wasn't a terrible idea. Willem made a mental note to pay Lovino Vargas a visit...and only hope that dopey bastard Spain wasn't hanging around.

Running a hand through his damp locks once more, Netherlands decided not to think on it any more. He couldn't think straight when he was this tired. He was awfully irritable and cranky and decided that all he had thought about would be ignored for the time being as such thoughts had not been formed with a completely alert mind. He would think on the strange position he found himself on calmly at another time. For the time being however, Netherlands had more pressing priorities like planning a birthday party for a very vulnerable birthday girl and even greater still...taking a _very_ long nap.

* * *

Once Netherlands had woken up from his nap, he wandered sluggishly into the kitchen for a bottle of water. He ran a hand through his unstyled bedhead, lightly ruffling his hair as he stretched. Still half asleep, he plucked a bottle from the fridge and sat at his kitchen island. He was just about to take his first swig of the cool liquid when the chime of his cell phone grabbed his attention. Sighing, he set down his bottle on the sparkling granite counter he had meticulously polished the day before and lazily reached over to pick up the phone.

"Hallo?" he sighed, rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand.

" _Broeder_?" Bella's voice sounded loudly through the receiver. Netherlands winced, pulling the phone away from his ear momentarily as Belgium immediately began what was the beginning to to a long awaited speech. " _Are you feeling alright_?"

"I just woke up, Bella." Netherlands grumbled.

" _No, I meant are you mentally stable?"_ Netherlands raised a brow at her rather rude question but before he could even formulate a response, Bella had already cut him off, " _Because my_ sane _brother, the antisocial perfectionist I know, would not suddenly drop a bombshell of hosting a party mere days before Canada's birthday! Since when did you get so social? Need I remind you that you had social gatherings? So once again, are you mentally stable?_ "

The irony of her question had him pinching the bridge of his nose and a laugh that sounded more like a sigh escaped his lips. "I've been wondering the same thing," he muttered under his breath.

 _"Be serious, Willem."_ Now _that_ was a phrase that neither sibling ever thought would have to be applied to Netherlands. The fact that it had been Bella of all people telling him so made him want to laugh; the fact that he _had_ been serious made him want to laugh harder.

"When am I not serious?" countered Netherlands, elbow propped up on the counter, held his chin in one hand and the phone in the other still held at a distance to avoid Belgium's loud voice from assaulting his ears. "It is not a party," Netherlands corrected briefly, "Do you object to Canada's company?" He prodded, knowing full well that she did not. So once she denied his accusation there would be no need for any further conversation, he could hang up the phone and that would be the end of it. However, Bella had no intention of being let go of that easily.

" _Of course I don't,_ "she said matter-of-factly. " _I adore Canada and I enjoy her company; in fact, I cave her company. What I want to know is when you started to as well_. _"_

Netherlands who had been halfheartedly reading the label of his water bottle actually turned to glare at the receiver. A mental image of flinging the phone across the room flashed through his mind; an impulse he might have acted on if the phone at hand hadn't been worth so much money. Briefly, he considered buying a cheap phone he could whip at leisure. Instead, he composed himself with a deep breath and responded as civilly as he could; inwardly reminding himself that he would eventually regret making his sister cry if he were to ever verbally lash out on her. "I figured it was about time we entertain Canada as out guest. There are no conferences or the like to worry about this month. Besides, her birthday was indirectly brought up then. It would look strange if I had waited for your consent and asked Canada about her birthday plans at a later time, would it not?" he reasoned, even though he had just thought up that excuse at that precise moment. "I've kept your wishes to spend more time with Canada in mind. She is our friend and ally; would it not be the appropriate or friendly thing to do?" he paused, idly drumming his fingers on the island counter top. "You and I both owe her as much..."

The line went blissfully silent for a few moments when he heard Bella's " _hm_ " sound from her side of the phone. _"Well, that makes sense I suppose..."_ she murmured and Netherlands gave a silent sigh of relief and hoped that would be the end of it but surprise, surprise; nothing was ever that simple where Bella was involved.

 _"...What doesn't make sense to me was your strange behaviour during lunch today_ _—_ _"_

His phone beeped, indicating an incoming call. Never had Netherlands been so thankful for a reason to put Bella on hold. He barely gave her enough time to process his grumbled words of " _another call_ " before he silenced Bella's objections with the touch of a button. So, Holland, even crankier than usual do to his nap and life in general just barely repressed the urge to sigh as he mumbled, " _Hallo?_ "

If it was that Spanish bastard again, he really _would_ smash his phone to bits.

For a moment, he thought he had perhaps been prank called because the other end of the phone was eerily silent. A beat more had passed where Netherlands had been considering simply hanging up on the phantom caller before a quiet voice sounded on the other line, " _Netherlands?_ " The nation straightened at the hushed tones of the familiar voice, snapping any and all traces of sleep from both his mind and body.

"I hope I'm not calling too late," Canada said, uncertainty weaving it's way through her tone.

"Not at all," he said simply as curiosity gnawed at him. How did she get his personal cell number?

Another beat of awkward silence seemed to pass through the phone and Netherlands found he could very clearly envision Canada standing by her phone, the fingers of her free hand nervously twirling the ends of her long golden locks or perhaps a phone cord. Patiently, he waited for only a brief moment longer; grateful for her voice so quiet and soft in a stark contrast to Bella's loud and bubbly tones. "Sorry if I surprised you by calling like this _—_ but Belgium gave me your number..."

Ah.

"...You're...free to talk?" she asked.

Had it been anyone else, Netherlands would have had a stinging sarcastic remark ready to fire off but not for Canada. He knew her question was out of politeness because it was a fact that even though someone may answer their phone, did not mean they were necessarily free to speak for very long at the moment. Her politeness and uncertainty amused him as he leaned onto his counter.

"Hm," he hummed his consent, listening intently as if he could hear her every heart beat if he just focused hard enough.

 _"Oh good...good..."_ she trailed off and it became clear that she wasn't someone who made a lot of phone days much like Netherlands himself. The two quiet nations both relied on non verbal forms of communication more heavily than they did actual words so the very idea of the two holding a conversation over the phone for anything more than a minute amused the Dutch nation; it would be a sheer miracle. _"Um, actually...I just called to ask how you are."_ This was said all in one breath as if she had been struggling with embarrassment to spit the words out; words which had Netherlands' brows furrowing in confusion. _"You seemed a little out of it at lunch—that is to say you looked tired today. I was just wondering if you're feeling well? You seemed really worn out, you know_ _—_ _I thought you were asleep when I walked into the conference this morning."_

Netherlands was taken aback by her words. He was not surprised that she had noticed his blatant spacing out at lunch but that she had been paying close enough attention to him the rest of the day as well. Netherlands softened at her concern and made no attempt to speak but instead pondered on how being the focus of her attention made him feel. He found he...quite liked the idea _—_ if the small swell of delight in his heart was anything to go by.

". _..Netherlands?_ " her worried voice snapped him out of his pleasant reverie. _"Are...are you there?"_

"Hm," he hummed but then forced himself to continue, "Yes, I'm here" he, pausing as he fought a smile that threatened to tug at his lips. "I'm very well, I assure you. I'm sorry if you felt neglected this afternoon. I've rested and feel much better now. I thank you for your concern, Canada."

" _Oh, no—not at all," then there came a very brief pause, "_ _I'm very glad then,"_ she said softly and by God if she didn't sound glad.

A beat had passed before Netherlands tried his luck. "Was that all you called about?" Netherlands asked gently (just to be sure that she didn't misconstrue his question as one of annoyance of course). Willem could feel her anxiousness and embarrassment on the other line. Her silence was most acute and he could practically see her struggling to form a coherent sentence. He let her struggle for a reply for a moment, thoroughly enjoying hearing her flustered. "Canada?" he asked coolly. There was a smile in his voice; one that he was sure Canada could hear as well.

He discreetly cleared his throat.

 _"I_ _—...y_ _es?" C_ ame her frazzled response. For whatever reason, the image of Canada pressing her phone to her chest as she mouthed a very mild curse to herself floated through his mind vividly. Little did he know that he was exactly correct. Canada was all but wishing she would just evaporate on the other end of the line.

"You will be joining us for your birthday won't you?" he asked a little too smoothly for a man who clearly _wasn't at all_ intending to charm the lovely Canadian girl on the other end of the line.

" _Well, I_ _—_ _j-joining you? As in_ me _coming_ there _?_ " she asked, still disbelieving that Netherlands' asking her to join Belgium and himself earlier hadn't been a dream. Oh how she had prayed she hadn't been hallucinating or simply dreamt it up. _"You weren't kidding..."_ he thought her heard her murmur more to herself than to him on the her end of the line.

"Or we could visit your home if you wish," he said casually although a part of him was quite hoping that both he and Bella could entertain her in their homes. The idea of Canada touring his beloved homeland on a personal visit was not unappealing. Besides saving on transportation, it might be a welcome change to the Canadian. However, he wondered if she would prefer to stay in her homeland for the festivities since the event was celebrating her.

" _Oh, no! I would love to visit you both...it's just..._ " the Canadian trailed off guiltily. Netherlands straightened, anticipating her words; for a moment he feared she would turn down his invitation entirely. That would be an undoubtedly large wound to his ego. Sure enough though, his fears were put to rest when she continued, " _It's just that I wouldn't want to impose on either of you._ "

"I assure you," Netherlands responded immediately. "there will be no imposition. In fact, Bella herself has insisted that she buy your plane ticket."

 _"She has?"_ Canada's surprise showed in her tone.

" _Oh_ , yes," Netherlands lied. Bella hadn't of course, but she would. Willem could already imagine Bella's face once she realized his dirty trick;his passive aggressive stroke at revenge for all of Bella's prying. There would be much grumbling for certain but she couldn't refuse of course _—_ especially now that he had promised Canada. _That'll teach her to give out my personal number so easily,_ he thought (not that he actually minded being a contact in Canada's cell phone but that was beside the point). Plus, Netherlands was never one to miss out on a chance to skip on an expensive bill whenever he could.

" _Wow, that's awfully sweet of her. I'll be sure to thank her for that!_ " said Canada. The genuine gratitude and humility in her voice was truly a pleasure to hear.

"You do that." Netherlands grinned to himself, relishing the thought of Bella's surprise in receiving a very gracious phone call from Canada for a gift she could not now deny; the mental image of a flustered Bella shocked by Canada's seemingly random gratitude for Bella's _"gift"_. He already knew that she hadn't the heart to let her down and Netherlands rejoiced in what was sure to be a slimy vengeance on his part. "I'll see you on Thursday, then?"

Canada's radiant smile could be heard through her voice as she replied, " _O-of course! See you Thursday._ " The joy was so evident in her voice that Netherlands couldn't help but smile too. Who ever knew a smile could be contagious without being seen? " _Goodnight, Netherlands!_ "

Willem closed his eyes. Though he wasn't quite willing or ready to understand his feeling for Madeline, at that moment he would readily admit that he didn't very much care either way. "Goodnight, Miss Canada" he said softly before hanging up the phone.

Netherlands realized then that Belgium had still been on the other line...

He found that he didn't much care about that either.

* * *

Thursday had arrived swiftly and Netherlands and Belgium stood at the airport gates waiting for their guest of honour to arrive. Netherlands had his hands stuffed idly in his pockets while Belgium stood uncharacteristically silent beside him; her arms crossed and her face settled in a scowl.

Needless to say that Bella hadn't been to please to be saddled with the airfare bill of a two thousand dollar flight ticket to and from Canada to Netherlands. Though Belgium had been giving Netherlands the silent treatment for the better part of the morning, he didn't mind. In fact, he quite liked it and pondered if leading Belgium into a constantly angry state at him was worth the silence. Netherlands pondered on the undiscovered possibilities here. He needed a new wheelbarrow for his garden _—_ perhaps he would order that on Bella's tab too. That way he would have a wheelbarrow _and_ a week of silence. It was tempting to say the least.

It was clear that Belgium's annoyance with Netherlands was battling with her excitement for Canada's arrival to claim dominion on her mood. In the end, the latter seemed to win out. She peeked around the many others anxiously awaiting for the arrival of the their loved ones through the gates. "Shouldn't they be let off by now? This is taking forever." whined Belgium impatiently, all but bouncing on the balls of her feet to better see past the crowd.

"You know the way this works, Belgium," said Netherlands as calm as ever. However, despite his cool composure he had to admit he had deeply anticipated the day they had planned ahead of them. He was not excited; no, Netherlands never got excited but he was quite looking forward to it. Though to be fair, a part of him was a little disappointed that he would have to share Canada's company with Belgium. Goodness knows it was hard to speak to Canada when Belgium had the floor. Bella could talk a mile a minute and when someone else was talking both Canada and Netherlands opted to do the listening instead so it was quite a hopeless scenario.

Belgium pouted at her brother for a moment before remembering to be annoyed, "I do. Pardon my enthusiasm, Mr. Moody." Her brother's utter lack of offense at her snide remark had Bella sending an irritated glance at her brother when her vexation gave way to a single thought _—_ one that she had been mulling over for the past few days; what had caused this change in Netherlands? Not to say that there was much of a change to him, since he remained the same stingy and unsociable man that he always had been but his behaviour seemed different—not by much of course. Apart from his rather distracted silence during their lunch with Canada (which was odd since Holland was far too serious and focused to ever be caught daydreaming or zoning out), his rather sudden decision to take on Canada as a guest was a cause for curiosity. Of course Bella knew that Canada was one of the very few nations that Netherlands liked let alone tolerated. Regardless, his choice to actively seek out her company without any professional purpose was unpredictable. That was a shock, Bella thought, using Netherlands and unpredictable in the same sentence. Yes, even though Netherlands had always liked Canada, he had never seen a reason to request her company as a friend before; as Belgium eyed her older brother, she wondered what had possibly made him change his mind.

The urge to confront him about this nearly drove her insane. It was just too juicy. It was simply torture to hold her tongue about such an enticing subject but the desire to satisfy her curiosity lost out to her desire to live another day without incurring the fiery wrath of Netherlands. To risk Netherlands' fury over something as trivial as curiosity was the modern day equivalent of the Pandora's box fable. The ends did not in any way justify the means. Bella had accepted this reality but not without some element of misery.

While Bella had her head in the cloud, Netherlands remained as focused and grounded as ever; his eyes as sharp as a hawk's on the gates. Much of what he had pondered days earlier regarding his feelings towards Canada lingered in the back of his mind; he kept these thoughts in check, pushing them back any time they threatened to swim to the forefront. Any emotional conundrum he had took a backseat his concerns regarding Canada's present state of weaving in and out of visibility. Like a faithful guard dog, his stare remained focused intently ahead. Netherlands had been convinced that being able to spot her immediately spoke to her state of well being. Since it had been about four times in a row where Madeline had managed to slip under Willem's radar, he was determined not to miss her this time.

And he did not.

Sure as the sun rose at dawn, Canada emerged from the flight gates; a backpack hanging off one shoulder and a small rolling suitcase in tow (as Bella had invited her to spend the night). She wore jeans and a red hoodie despite the warmth of the day. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail that Netherlands imagined had been neat at one point before the Canada had set foot on the plane; a wayward curl bouncing over her face as she huffed to herself, thankful to be off the plane. Netherlands allowed himself a half smile at the rather annoyed look on her face before her eyes began to wonder, searching the crowd that surrounded the exit gate. Her violet eyes scanned the crowd intently and it did not take long before her eyes found Holland's. Netherlands (who felt a slight thrill at the fact that her eyes seemed to spot him in the crowds almost immediately) elbowed his sister little; the nudge spurring her back into reality. She had sent her brother a confused look before she followed his eyes to see Canada already approaching the pair of siblings.

Any foul mood that lingered about Belgium was lost and forgotten as soon as she laid her eyes on the North American nation.

"Canada, ma cher!" Bella called stepping forward to embrace the nation who (although initially surprised and flattered by such a warm welcome) immediately turned to partake in the European greeting as the two girls kissed each other on both cheeks with a practiced motion; it appeared Canada's French roots ran deeper than expected.

Netherlands however, hanging back rather stiffly, watched as the two women exchanged pleasantries. For whatever reason, Netherlands felt a surge of disappointment (and envy) as Bella showed affection towards Canada so freely. If he had pulled a stunt like that as a man it wouldn't quite work out as well. Despite it being a European greeting he refrained. God knows he was European but not _that_ European; Canada would receive no such greeting from him...unfortunately.

Both women turned back to face the Netherlands; arms linked. Bella looked at her brother, sticking her tongue out at him then smiling innocently before Canada could take notice of the silent exchange between the siblings. The measured look he sent Belgium was one of nonchalance meant to relay that he was unaffected by her stunt, feigning ignorance to her blatant provocations (all the while silently promising vengeance) since acknowledging her taunts with a glare would only encourage her. Then, his eyes met Canada's bright violet eyes and though his expression remained as aloof as ever, his eyes softened.

She was looking up at him with a bashful but bright smile and seemed a little healthier than she had the last time he saw her which came as a welcome relief. She was still awfully pale but her eyes were bright and alert and her cheeks were tinted a pale pink with her excitement.

"Miss Canada," he greeted with a bow of his head. "Your flight was a pleasant one?" he asked this casually, though he recalled her earlier look of annoyance by the gates with amusement.

There was no way in hell Canada would tell him that it had in fact been a very _un_ pleasant trip especially since her hosts had paid for it; that would be rude. So Canada decided she would forget to mention how she was almost sat on by a passenger that " _hadn't noticed"_ her, how she went ignored by flight attendants, and how the hoser behind her kept kicking at the back of her chair. This and more seemed to happen every flight—especially with Air Canada, oh God what a nightmare that airline was. Since this was most certainly a _horrendous_ flight and telling him so would be very impolite, the nation did what she did best; pretend everything was alright. Canada smiled and nodded though it lacked sincerity...just by a little. "Yes, just fine, thank you" she lied.

"Hm." Netherlands however, saw right through her guise but diplomatically refrained from calling her out on her bluff since _that_ would indeed be very rude. Instead, he gave a small amused grunt and plucked her suitcase from her slender hands and pulled it along for her. "The car is this way," he informed her as he stalked towards the doors to the parking lot, making sure that the two women followed suit, not missing the deeper flush on the Canadian's cheeks. Belgium hung back if only more a moment longer having observed the warm greetings exchanged. A silent understanding seemed to have passed between the two, one that Belgium for the life of her could not possibly fathom. Nonetheless, she smiled watching as Canada jogged on over to Netherlands as the two fell into step beside each other, chatting idly at length.

Maybe there was hope for them yet.

Taking in a charmed breath of air, Belgium trailed behind the two; impatient to see how this new turn of events would pan out in the coming chapters of the unfolding story that was Canada and Netherlands' friendship. Their story was taking on a life of it's own it seemed and Belgium was eager to see where it lead them next. She could only wait and see and pray that it had a happy ending for them both.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

 _ **We are all Belgium to be honest...**_

 **Aha, so here we have a closer look into Netherlands' seldom seen emotional side.**

 **I'm sorry if this chapter didn't have much of Canada in it but trust me, there will be PLENTY of NedCan action going on in the next chapter. *evil laugh***

 **Speaking of which, I had planned to write in Canada's birthday into this chapter but I decided that this was a much cuter way to end this chapter.**

 **Never fear! Canada's Birthday Bash will be featured in the next installment of _A Flower In The Fray_!**

 **(btw, that jab at Air Canada was inspired by Canadian Youtuber and comedian iiSuperwomanii who absolutely loathes Air Canada. Her rant was one that stuck with me so I had to include it).**

 **P.S *hoser is a Canadian term defined as**

 _ **"** **a foolish or uncultivated person"**  
_ **  
 _Until next time, lovelies!_**


	8. Airborne Turbulence

**Author's Note: I am terribly sorry to have neglected you all.**

 **I am officially a college this year so I hope you with all be understand why I have had a hard time updating. I hope to update at least twice this month to make up for my lack of a chapter in August.**

 **Hold on to your hats, ladies and gentlemen; it's Canada's long awaited point of view.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or it's characters.**

 **Please R &R!**

* * *

Canada's flight had been terrible; simply horrendous, in fact. The grueling seven hour flight had been one spent in utter discomfort and misery for the Canadian nation. Truth be told, it was rather sad; seeing as the northern nation had been all but bouncing with impatient excitement to get on the plane earlier that day. By the end of her travels, she had still been bouncing in her seat but this time with slightly erratic impatience to get off the plane as soon as humanly possible.

Canada's seat had in fact been taken by a man wearing a New York Yankees hat (who was undoubtedly American; Canada could spot one of her brother's people a mile away no matter what they wore) and simply ignored her existence as she politely asked him to move. Instead, she gave up and took his seat instead beside an Chinese business man who reminded her very much of Yao in that he kept obnoxiously yapping away on his cellular phone up up until the flight took off and for whatever reason felt that the arm rest belonged to him and him alone. Canada could deal with her stolen seat, and a then unfriendly and loudly snoring businessman to her right. Yet, that was not all. Oh, no. A misbehaving child by the name of "Charlie" did nothing but kick the back of her chair the entire flight. She had at one point made eye contact with the rambunctious child as he kicked at her chair then proceeded to make faces and kick harder while his ignorant mother chose to ignore his ill-behaviour completely in favour flicking through an issue of People magazine or more frequently eyeing a handsome young steward on the plane. It was at times like this, that Canada wished she was more like America who had no qualms about speaking his mind perhaps to the point of blatant rudeness. If only she were America, her flight would have gone very differently.

If she was America, she would have slapped the baseball cap whose team represented her most hated city off the American's head and forced his rude overweight butt out of her seat. She would have gladly told the Asian businessman that she indeed understood basic Mandarin (do to her frequent dealings with China and his new coming immigrants) and did not appreciate his complaining to his " _business partner_ " that a " _dumb blonde_ " (that was her) had just sat down beside her and that said _dumb blonde_ was moments away from smacking the phone out of his hand and his arm off the armrest between them. Madeline would have fixed the bratty child behind her with a loathsome glare and told his mother to get off her ass (or in this case, get her eyes off the young steward's ass) and do some parenting.

Of course, this did not happen as Canada was altogether a very different nation and person from her bold and (some would argue foolishly) fearless brother. So, Canada bid her time in perfect silence; taking the abuse of the world as usual. Hell, she wasn't respected by the nations she worked with, so why would the people of the world treat her any differently? For Canada was convinced that if she truly had acted on her emotions, she was almost certain she would have been arrested by the air marshal. Having no such desire to be detained for the rest of the flight, Canada suffered in silence. Canada, after all had nerves of steel and an almost limitless amount of patience. She rarely ever let herself feel anything beyond annoyance. However, what people didn't know was that Canada had a temper; she really did. Deep beneath the layers of selflessness, kindness, compassion and patience, Canada had a well of untapped rage; one borne from centuries of bottled up emotions as the world's favourite doormat. It was only natural that someone so generous and good-natured would be taken advantage of and in having their kindness taken for granted, should lead to some displeasure.

Still, Canada wasn't truly angry; only annoyed and eager for her travels to be over. She bore through the flight feeling an acute sense of "why me?" for her miserable excuse of an existence. Once upon a time, Canada might have been bolder in voicing her discontent. Certainly not so bold as to go about it the way Alfred might have but definitely enough to get her way. Once, she would have patiently fought the American over her seat, told the businessman beside her to watch his mouth, would have calmly called out the irresponsible mother behind her to control her wayward son should he disturb anyone else on the plane as well. Madeline was an honest person and in fact incredibly forward but that seemed so long ago. For whatever reason, Canada felt tired. So exhaustingly tired. She didn't put up a fight. She didn't have the mental strength to even bother anymore.

Canada felt pathetic. She knew the world, the entire world, saw her as nothing but a pushover-that is, if they saw her at all. Madeline fell even deeper into the pit of insecurity and self loathing in which she had dwelled for so long. It was this train of thought that ran rampant in her head for the rest of the flight. She felt so small, so utterly useless. It was unbearably pitiful that her flight should be one so miserable on such an occasion; not that her birthdays were ever all that special to begin with. However, the reason for her trip on the Air Canada flight from hell gave way to a break of happiness.

To be invited abroad for her birthday; Canada felt it was simply too good to be true. Canada had a small forming bruise on her left arm from the amount of times she had pinched herself in anticipation that she should wake up from a dream. What else could it have been? It simply had to be a dream! No one else had ever invited her out for her birthday before! In truth, Canada had spent a couple of sleepless nights brimming with excitement and disbelief in equal measure. Hell, she was still struggling to believe it! After all, people had a hard time remembering who she was let alone her birthday, so being a guest of honour was almost too great a surprise to comprehend.

Yes, all her patience and fortitude would pay off because soon enough, Canada would be spending her birthday with two of the finest nations she had ever known. Madeline felt a rush of joy at the thought of spending time with her friends; the very idea that she had friends at all still surprised her. Though she was not an unpleasant person in the slightest measure, people had the little nasty habit of forgetting she that existed at all. She tried not to let the thought dampen her mood any further than it already had being on such a God awful flight.

Instead, she focused on her companions who so thoughtfully wished to celebrate with her on her special day. The fact that anyone remembered her birthday let alone her existence still had her reeling. It was quite overwhelming, pleasurably so, that she should have such friends for Canada sincerely enjoyed their company endlessly. Soon, she would be chatting away merrily with Belgium and Netherlands.

Netherlands...

A slow bloom of warmth and appreciation swelled in her chest at the thought of the tall and stoic nation who treated her with such unsolicited kindness. Canada had befriended many nations of the world; she was allies with many both near and far. While this was the case, Canada could not help but feel that's all she had; allies. Her friendly relations with the nations of the world were pristine yet she could never truly call one friend spare for perhaps Netherlands. He made an effort to speak to her whenever their paths crossed which was pathetically more than she could say about the rest of the world. Hell, most of the world didn't realize she existed or mistook her for her brother (to which only she ever payed dearly for his brash actions). This fact was only made more humiliating since they were different _genders_ (it was a part of the reason that she insisted on growing her hair out after the war). Did they really think she looked so much like him? Was she that forgettable? It was at times like this that Madeline was forced to agree with such a statement but Netherlands' attentiveness to her made her uncertain; surely, she wasn't so forgettable if Netherlands remembered her, right?

Not only did he remember her, oh no; he never forgot her.

She was very fond of the two sibling nations; of the gorgeous and bubbly (and sometimes ridiculously over the top) Belgian nation who treated her with such civility and kindness. Belgium had never given her any reason for misery and she was very fond of the nation. In fact, she wanted very much to be a close friend and was very flattered that Belgium seemed to enjoy her company enough to invite her into her own home and pay for the wonderfully horrendous flight! Naturally, she was very fond of the good-natured blonde woman but she was inclined to admit that the relationship she shared with Belgium's older brother was quite different. Canada couldn't help but feel that Belgium's kindness, though genuine, was to be pegged to their diplomatic relations and to Canada's roll in her past liberation. Of course, Bella was very friendly but Madeline still felt a barrier of closeness that defined a personal friendship. It was strange however as the same could be said for her relationship with Netherlands, more formal than not, yet she didn't feel that barrier quite so acutely with him. For some inexplicable reason, it felt different.

Canada was ever so fond of Netherlands; feelings of delight filled her every time she thought of the aloof nation. Netherlands was a polite, respectful and honest man. A gentleman of wit and integrity and a very decent conversationalist despite his so-called reserved and quiet nature. Madeline never understood why so many nations held an unfavourable opinion of him. How could anyone ever think of him as antisocial, cold or stingy? Holland had treated her with nothing but the utmost respect, dignity and generosity every time they had met. Of course, she had saved his life all those years ago but surely, that couldn't be the reason for such graciousness? She had saved many others before in recent years with less appreciation received. No, he couldn't be lingering on that. Although Canada was proud of her endurance and endlessly relieved in being able to save Netherlands the way she did, she wouldn't expect him to hold on so tightly to what she had done for him forever. It was her duty after all. She would never make a big deal out of who she saved. She expected no thanks simply because it was what had to be done, what should to be done for the good of everyone in the world.

Still, the liberation of Netherlands had always made her feel a certain way. It had been a particularly gruesome affair; one she fought with a little more fervor than the rest. It was a time of injustice and desperation. Canada had closed her eyes and thought. She remembered it like it was yesterday.

 _Canada was incensed; a_ _bsolutely livid._

 _Even as she managed to keep a lid on her building frustration, she was beyond pretending she was unaffected by the injustice that tore at her and by no means above letting the Allies know of her discontent. The years since the German occupation of the Netherlands began, the Allies did little more than twiddle their thumbs over his course, their metaphorical plates had been full for some time now and this was their favoured excuse. It was one that might have made sense if the liberation of Netherlands was not so crucial a key to their overpowering Hitler's Third Reich. From day one, it had been acknowledged that Netherlands' ports positioned on the North Sea readily became the best vantage point to control the flow of European goods to all areas of the world-most specifically, the Allies. This fact seemed clear to the Germans who so viciously sought to invade and conquer the lands which had now become their stronghold and means for worry to the Allies' ever dwindling supplies._

 _No one had lifted a finger, even as the livelihood of the Dutch people grew bleaker and bleaker with each passing month. She had brought up her concerns for many a country or people neglected during the war (Holland being at the top of her list). The years since the war had taken off, Canada all but lost her tact. There was no point in holding her tongue if her words might convince the Allies to take action and in turn save lives._

 _During meeting at Allied Headquarters, Canada's urging to aid Holland had once again fallen on deaf ears and encroaching on the very last straw of her limited patience. What fools they were. Arguing for their pride rather than the safety of the people. A foolish rivalry between Allied nations as to who would win the war on their own steam; treating it like it was not but a game._

 _Canada felt her failure acutely, like a knife slicing into her heart. God damn it, if only she had been a more influential country, they might listen at least long enough for her to explain to them just how feeble minded their harebrained schemes at Allied victories were. Such idiots, such foolhardy imbeciles!_

 _Then, for Canada shone a light of redemption. A chance for progress unfolded itself right into her lap. Upon hearing the Queen of Netherlands found her safety in the hands of the English questionable, she was fervent in seeking a new refuge. Nothing was done so like usual, Canada decided to take matters into her own hands. Canada's heart broke for the Dutch ruler and seeing as no one else bothered to take on the responsibility, Canada of course welcomed the monarch and her children into her home with great hospitality. The Queen was a good and kind woman whose warmth radiated freely and earned Canada's immediate favour; Juliana's devastation for her country ran deep and was utterly horrified that her people were left in the hands of Hitler's forces. Madeline reached out to the Queen and urged her to rely on her should she need anything at all, all the while solemnly promising herself that she would see to it that the world was free from such evils._

 _Canada grieved that offering the Queen refuge was so small a gesture but it was all she could do at present. Netherlands was of course not the only country that needed her aid. Still, Canada endeavored to extend her aid as far as her powers could she could not combat chaos, she would strive to uphold normalcy._

 _Her years spent ankle deep in blood and failure were anything but easy. The quiet nation had hardened in the times of war just as she had almost thirty years previous. Still, there was only so much she could do under Britain's power. A connection she once admired was now a cause for loathing. She was Britain's brave little attack dog. All he ever had to do was let her off the leash and watch her work. Britain would revel in her success on the battlefield was she was left alone and forgotten to lick her wounds. Canada didn't like to think on it much._

 _After a particularly useless meeting of the Allies, Canada was alerted that Queen Juliana was with a child. What should have been a momentous occasion for joy brought raised a whole new array of problems. The Queen was quite distraught at the idea that her child may lose a possible claim to the throne and the last thing Netherlands needed was more political unrest. It was something that required her attention and in turn the attention of her government as well. Calling the cabinet together for a meeting, her politicians and ministers were at a loss._

 _"The Queen is beside herself," an official had told her, seemingly quite exhausted. "It's not like she could go back to Netherlands to have the child earn its citizenship and time is running out."_

 _"No, of course not. It would be a great risk to her and the child. Going so far as Europe alone would be suicide," Canada mused, looking out onto the rather bare gardens of her Parliament; she couldn't help but think it looked quite plain. "It's a matter of citizenship, a birthright..." A few members of the cabinet exchanged disquieted glances at each other as the nation mumbled to herself in thought._

 _"Of course Ma'am but the fact of the matter is, the child is bound to be born on our land." Another cabinet minister declared wearily. "I'm afraid there is little left to be done, Miss Williams. Miss Williams?"_

 _Madeline did not hear him of course; her mind was already engaged in this political puzzle. This all seemed familiar somehow. It was as if she had all the pieces of the puzzle but could not see the full picture. A voice whispered and nagged at the back of her head that the answer was in plain sight, that there was something she was overlooking. She stood silent and un-moving, thoughts coursing through her hardship laden mind. Violet eyes still glued to the now neglected gardens of Parliament Hill, her gaze fell upon the empty flower beds. Of land...of soil. Of soil._

Jus Soli.

 _An idea struck the nation, one just crazy enough to work. "Mr. Cambridge?" She asked her Governor General. Alexander Cambridge, 1st Earl of Athlone looked up to his nation with interest. "The laws of Netherlands are of the old ways, yes?" Canada asked, her gaze was outside the window but her mind was far beyond, all the way in Europe where a godforsaken nation who lie in waiting of her aid._

 _"Ma'am?" The distinguished earl's brow furrowed, having trouble keeping up with her sudden leap of thought._

 _"Netherlands; do Dutch laws still follow the law by_ Jus Sanguinis? _" she asked, surprising a few with the coolness of her tone._

 _"That is correct," Cambridge replied, in his eyes was a flicker; the precursor to realization._

 _Madeline remained firm in her address, silently going the plans already forming in her head. "If Her Majesty's child is born on Canadian soil, under our laws and by virtue of birth she will be a Canadian citizen. If this child is to be in line for the throne, it will require a full Dutch citizenship to satisfy their laws."_

 _"Even if the Dutch laws are by the right of blood, it our laws will still stand once the child is born on Canada soil," argued one government official. There was a murmur of agreement heard around the room. Canada finally tore her gaze from the window and shifted her sights onto the esteemed members of her government. Canada almost smiled, looking out upon the city of Ottawa beyond the window. Finally tearing her gaze from the window, she shifted her sights onto the esteemed members of her government._

 _"Precisely." Her cabinet seemed surprised by the impish luster in her eyes but she was already much too agreed on her own plan to dampen her satisfaction. "Which is why the child will not be born on_ Canadian _soil."_

 _The air was thick with confusion in the government chambers as the men were at a lost with what seemed to be a contradictory notion. Canada's good humour sobered at the measures that would have to be taken in order to achieve her goal; all the political work that had to be done on top of all else she had to orchestrate in these turbulent times. Strings needed to be pulled and wheels greased. She would utilize all the power and influence her faculties would allow. It was quite a hat trick, but it would have to work._

 _"We will disclaim the land on which the child is born. It will be claimed extraterritorial and by the right of Dutch law_ Jus Sanguinis _and Queen Juliana's citizenship, the child take on the nationality of the Queen therefore a full Dutch citizen and a claim to the Dutch line of succession," Canada announced promptly._

 _A thinking silence passed over the room then quiet murmurs of thought grew louder._ _"It is not impossible," murmured Earl Cambridge in thought. This was the general consensus that passed through the chamber. Canada was just glad they had managed to keep up with her so far. Lord knew, men in politics._

 _"Good. Then see it done," Canada said simply with an air of finality as she made her way for the large carved doors of the chamber._

 _"But where do we even begin to-?" began one politician when Canada cut him off, turning back to address her entire cabinet with the hardened stare not of Canada the young woman but of Canada the warborn nation. "I don't care how it is done, I don't care how long it takes but come hell or high water, Juliana will have her heir and the Netherlands will have reason for hope. Make it happen." Canada snapped, the unusual curtness and force in her tone was one that her government rarely ever got to see (one that had most politicians on edge). Though they were taken aback by her harsh words of ambition, she knew they would do as she said. Without further ado, the Canadian swept out the room leaving an unnerved silence in her wake._

 _Let the Allies squabble and bicker. She had work to do._

 _The shuttering jerk of the plane hitting turbulence jolted Canada out of her reverie. It was such a strange memory to have relieved in the light of what should have been a stress free day (at least it was before she had to deal with the Air Canada airlines). The memory wasn't all that bad considering. Canada had many fond memories attached to the birth of Juliana's daughter, Margriet. She had been present during the birth and christening of the little princess. Yes, Canada had many a fond recollection of the birth of the Dutch princess. The lovely little child had been a ray of sunshine in a dark and cruel world; a reminder of innocence and the great need for it to be protected. Madeline herself had held the precious child who had brought out such warmth and excitement in both her nation and in Netherlands in her very arms. She had prayed that they too had seen little Margriet as a cause for hope and celebration in so bleak a day and age. Canada had the Dutch flag erected, Dutch songs were sung and a day of merrymaking commenced, for if the people of the Netherlands were unable to fully welcome their newest princess into the world she would make sure that Margriet would have her welcoming here in her new home of Ottawa._

 _In the future, she would fly over the very land she sought to liberate and see vast farms and fields, alive and green. However, her first experiences viewing Europe from above during her mercy missions to relieve hunger in Netherlands during their famine formed a very different picture._ _Canada had met up with the Allied nations once again and once again, she expected she would be overlooked. They did not disappoint. No one ever wanted to hear her opinion, no one ever even asked. It didn't help that she was the only woman in a room full of men who had to make the "big decisions". Oh sure, they were concerned about a little lady in a conference room drafting battle plans but not concerned enough to literally throw her into the very definition of hell on earth that was the European battlefront._

 _"This is a crucial matter, one that has already waited much too long to be addressed." Canada had argued fervently._

 _But no, no one listened._ _The four still argued and bickered._

 _America was still too busy trying to exact revenge on Japan for his attack on Pearl Harbor some three years ago. France was in a rage over Paris' dreadful occupation by his long hated enemy, Germany. Yao seemed mainly indifferent as always-only looking out for the chance to end up conquering the Axis Powers by the end of the war while Russia too had an old score to settle with Germany. And then there was Britain who wanted nothing more than to deliver his sheer and personal wrath upon his enemies._

 _They were too concerned with reaping revenge against the Nazis that they had forgotten all those plagued by the cruelty and savagery of Hitler's armies. The Hunger Winter had devastated the masses in Holland and it was enough. Men, women and children were starving to death and it was enough. Canada would not have it, Canada would not rest nor relent until her demands to do something were met but as usual, no decision made by the Allies could be made with civility so she approached it the only way she thought would work. So, Canada took it upon herself to prepare lunch for the four hungry nations (whether for food, power or glory she couldn't say which)._

 _"I hope you're all hungry," Canada said as the four men eagerly opened their lunchboxes provided. However, a confused hush fell over the room at the so-called meal Canada had prepared. America of course was the first to break the stunned silence._

 _"Hey! What gives?!" Alfred cried, turning his empty lunchbox this way and that, flipping it upside down and shaking it out as if food would magically appear if he looked hard enough; sheer panic taking over his features at the prospect that he might go hungry._

 _"...There's nothing here?" Britain murmured aloud in incredulity, gaping at the empty container in his hands while America to his left looked like he was about to faint._

 _"No shit, Sherlock!" snapped France, the food loving nation clearly distressed over their lack of a meal. "_ Cherie, _what is the meaning of this?!" Francis all but shrieked, pointing at the empty lunch box at hand; aghast that Canada should not have prepared anything. "Did Britain put you up to this?!" It was clear that France felt an acute fear that her years with Britain had affected her abilities to prepare a meal that wasn't semi-hazardous._

 _"Hey! Shut it, frog; I had nothing to do with this!" The so called gentleman nation reared up, slamming his fist on the table. "I would have at least packed a hearty helping of delicious scones or blood sausage!" His rambling was soon drowned out when China began to voice his outrage._

 _"Is this a joke on my Totalitarian government?" Demanded Yao, clearly tempered over both the lack of food to satisfy his hearty appetite and the imagined slight against his government's less than sufficient means of keeping their people well fed. "How rude!"_

 _"I do not understand," blinked Russia, looking about as genuinely surprised as Russia could without looking downright murderous or affronted.  
_

 _All the four nations looked onto Canada who stood at the end of the small conference table, arms folded over her chest. Britain, quitting his impromptu argument with France spoke with agitation colouring his tone. "I say, Canada; has shell shock finally taken its toll on you?"_

 _Narrowing her eyes, Canada managed to keep her tone steady despite the undertones of ire in her words. "Still hungry? I'm sorry, how impolite of me not to offer you dessert. I thought I'd prepare you something special." The four nations exchanged befuddled looks and watched with interest as Canada stooped down to produce yet another lunch box, one she flung harshly onto the table with a heavy clatter, knocking the lid ajar and causing its contents to spill over the table._

 _All four nations stared on in stunned silence at the newest lunchbox Canada had prepared which contained nothing but withering tulips, pulled straight from their roots; clumps of soil and earth clung to the sprawling roots of the flower. "_ Tulips à la Holland _."_

 _Each allied nation seemed astonished by her brazen actions and looked on her with astonishment. Reading their confusion and shock, Canada remarked upon their expressions with just about as mocking a tone she ever got around to using. "Dissatisfied with your meal, are you?"_

" _What is the meaning of this?" Britain demanded, echoing France's earlier question to which this time she addressed._

"This! _" Canada snapped, jabbing a finger at the mess on the table._ " _is the current diet of German occupied Netherlands!" Every nation's eyes trailed to the miserable looking tulips, twisted and withering on the conference table before looking up to exchange weary glances. "I thought you would have approved of this as a suitable meal since this is what we have let the Dutch people in Holland eat for months on end now." Canada pointed out sharply, her voice raised voice was just about as frustrated and vociferous as she ever let it get_ _. "If they aren't eating the dying bulbs of their tulips, they are eating nothing! You wouldn't wish it upon yourselves yet you deem it acceptable for the men, women and children suffering in the Netherlands?"_

 _The men in the room seemed utterly appalled by Canada's forthright and hard hitting confrontation. The four allied nations at least had the decency to look ashamed. A grim silence hung over the group and Canada waited for any objection. There came a heavy sigh from Britain who tented his fingers in front of his mouth before leaning back into his chair. "You're quite right, Canada but what more can we do than hope they hold tight while we try to save them and all that?"_

 _Britain sounded exhausted, not that she blamed him but she would not allow him or any of the other Allies to brush this off as Britain undoubtedly planned on doing if the situation was not resolved in a fashion he deemed fit. Canada would not allow any more apathy spread around the room and she cut in quickly. "It should be obvious that they can't go on much longer like this. They are dying by the thousands and the death toll will only increase unless we act quickly._

 _"I propose we use coordinated airdrops of care packages of food and supplies to keep the Dutch alive for as long as we can." Canada said, pointing to the map which Britain had sprawled on the table. "The west is the most densely populated, here north of the great rivers. We should start there first and work our way down the Hague from Amsterdam and onto Rotterdam and so on."_

 _France spoke up then, "I don't think you've thought this through,_ cherie _" said France, concerned as if she were a little girl who still believe in the Easter Bunny or some childish fable; as if he didn't want to disappoint her in revealing that all she believed in did not exist."You are forgetting about that meanie, Germany" France all but whined, just about ready to bite on a handkerchief and mutter about the many grievances Germany had caused him over the years. Even though she knew her Papa as she once fondly called him meant no harm, she inwardly bristled. Did they all think her as brash and incompetent and her brother? She inwardly bristled at his words; her aggravation only driving her to be more unrelenting and savage in her address._

 _"We strike a deal with Germany. If we persuade him to allow us to drop in timed air drops without his men shooting us down and without us bombing the German positions the might agree. Hitler will want more than just land to occupy, he wants people." Canada reasoned intelligently. "Both Britain's Royal Air Force and mine are more than capable of delivering mass amounts of goods down to the Netherlands if we come in from the west then circle back to base. Even America's air force will be of a great benefit to us, especially if we take turns delivering the air drops." Canada could have done it herself in all honesty but if getting Britain and America involved on the glory was what it took to get her plan set into motion then so be it._

 _A thinking silence settled over the Allies and Canada took it as a good sign that she hadn't been outright refused. Still, Canada waited, staring each of the nations down with determination. After a brief moment, the usually quiet Russia surprised the group by speaking up. "I like friend Canada's plan," said the Russian cheerfully. "It relieves guilty conscience without me having to get involved."_

 _China seemed surprised to share the Russian man's sentiment. "Me too," chimed Yao._

 _"But what about me? Why does no one get me involved, poo" Pouted France (who was secretly relieved that he would have nothing to do with it since he already had enough to worry about since Germany seemed to have it out for him). His muttering was all but drowned out by America who leapt up from his seat, star spangled patriotism gleaming in his cerulean blue eyes. "Dude that sounds totally badass! I got this you guys! I can totally handle not bombing people for a day, yeah! I'll go in for the first strike-"_

 _"Oh shut it!" snapped Britain, harshly whipping a withered tulip at the American's face._

 _All conversation had ceased in the room while the America muttered under his breath as he cleaned his now soiled non-prescription glasses and all eyes settled on Britain who essentially had the final say. He_ had _to agree. He simply had to. Then Britain's sharp green eyes settled on her. Canada's heart thundering in her chest. Though her fears that her words would fall on deaf ears once again threatened to crush her, she stood tall and held Britain's gaze with a look of unwavering determination in her eyes. Arthur continued to hold her stare,_ _narrowing for a moment before he sighed; running a hand through his shaggy blonde hair, Britain caved. "Very well," Arthur concluded. "I will begin preparations at once starting with a wire to Germany. We'll see if the kraut has enough guts to let his guard down."_

 _With all agreed on the scheme, Britain continued to cement the plot in the Allies' list of operations as if he himself had thought up the plan. Canada was too elated to even care that both America and Britain seemed to congratulate each other on such a brilliant strategy. They could go back to forgetting she existed the next day and she still wouldn't care (at least no more than was usual). Madeline felt pride and satisfaction in equal measure. Finally, the Allies had taken a step towards peace together. Lives would be saved and that was all that mattered. Canada sent her prayers out to the people of Netherlands and to the mysterious nation himself whom she had not since had the pleasure of meeting._

 _To the surprise of the rest of the Allies, Germany had actually agreed to their mercy missions and allowed such air drops to take place under strict terms which the Germanic nation himself had ordered. Still, his agreement was as good as any and Canada, Britain and America were set to work on relieving the Dutch people from famine._

 _Soon, the day came that Canada was charged to make her rounds dropping care packages to the starving people below. She had grown used to seeing the decimated land beneath; flooded, bombed and destroyed. It was a grim and piteous sight; one she did not look forward to witnessing with each trip over the country. However, one day Canada was surprised to see a very welcome change in the world below. Upon rooftops of plenty were messages. Canada blinked several times but they were still there; she wasn't imagining things. What was most shocking were not the large letters spelled out in tulips but the messages themselves! Canada could not believe her eyes upon seeing the very clear words which read, "_ THANK YOU CANADIANS _" down below._

 _Canada's heart gave a squeeze at the heartwarming sight. For her time spent on the mission, she had seen more and more messages of "_ MANY THANKS _" and praise for the work of the air drops. Canada was overjoyed by the messages; they bore testament to the success of the care packages prepared, that the parcels had actually been received by the needy and most importantly, that the Dutch people had hope. No, Canada did not ask for praise or glory but deep in her soul, Madeline felt a strong swell of emotion at being appreciated._ _Canada rejoiced on this day, happy to see some good come out of her insistence. The Allies had finally listened to her but of course, all good things had to come to an end. Soon after, both Canada and the Netherlands were abandoned by their Allies and thrown into a hellish fate that bonded both nations together indefinitely._

By then the plane had already begun its decent towards ground when Canada next snapped out of her daydream. Madeline had shook her head to banish any remaining thoughts of the days before the liberation of Netherlands. How strange it was to Canada that she should have two memories of those dark days jump to the forefront of her mind so suddenly. It was a tad unnerving to say the least. Still, Canada had no time to think on it for she had finally reached her destination and despite her own logic, she longed to zoom out of the airplane as fast as she could much like the other passengers who did not realize that rushing to gather their things would not help them get off the plane any faster since they would have to wait for the doors to be opened anyways. Of course, Canada's logic won over her desire to get trampled on by a bunch of unruly Air Canada passengers. God knows, that was a fate no one deserved. Naturally, being one of the only passengers who was old enough to remember the rare and strange phenomenon known as common courtesy (now not so common). God knew that Madeline appreciated all the things that modern times had to offer like penicillin and thumbless mittens but _Wayne Gretzky_ did she miss the social etiquette of the days predating electricity!

Perhaps that was partly the reason she admired Netherlands' good manners so much.

For whatever the reason, the thought of the handsome though stoic nation made her feel shy for the lack of a better word. Thoughts of Netherlands also reminded her that she had indeed survived her hellish flight on the winged beast that bore the equally dreadful moniker _Air Canada_ and she would soon see him. She envied Europeans who hadn't had to resort to planes for the most efficient means of travel; not that they had to travel very far at all since the whole of Europe could fit into Canada at least three times over. Hell, at this point Canada would rather swim than take another flight from Air Canada. _Christ_ , how she hated that blasted air line.

Still, Madeline, cheered by the thought of spending the day with two such wonderful nations as Netherlands and Belgium, had made her walk out the front gates to meet her welcoming hosts.

* * *

 **Author's Note: I hope this chapter isn't too short. I really wanted a full chapter for Canada's birthday so this will have to do.**

 **I'm not sure if I will scarce write more chapters with Canada's point of view since oddly enough the story became one that was to be viewed mainly through Netherlands' eyes.** **Please let me know what you think!**

 **As always, thank you for reading. Until next time!**

 **P.S The Dutch people really did spell out things like "THANK YOU CANADIANS" and "MANY THANKS" in tulips over rooftops. Isn't that just the sweetest thing you've ever heard?**


End file.
